The Pestle of the Moon
by Periti
Summary: He didn't really want to go to the Deathday party on Halloween. But he did anyways. There, an odd character catches Harry's eye; someone everyone else at Hogwarts seems to dismiss as "Loony".
1. Devil in a Looking Glass

Disclaimer: I claim no rights to any of the characters contained herewithin, nor do I intend to seek profit from any use of them.

NB: This work is a single point departure from established Harry Potter canon, occurring sometime around the date of 28 October, 1992. Due to this change, events will begin to _slowly_ diverge. In any realistic application, though, small divergence soon snowballs. So there will be an appropriate mix of similar events from the novels (if nothing would have changed their execution), differently timed events, or just situations which use objects or people already in place. Most plot elements up to the sixth book will find their way in, in some form. Of course, they might just be a skeleton from canon. There's no overarching desire to change the overall feel of the series, just to flesh things out a bit more for fun.

There are only slight differences in this first chapter, which expand to a few significant changes in the second. Then, in the third, there is a much more severe change from canon. By that point, things will have begun to be affected a lot more.

* * *

31 October, 1992

"This is going to be absolutely _fascinating_!" gushed Hermione, as the Golden Trio walked deeper into the bowels of Hogwarts, fulfilling a promise Harry now wished he hadn't made. They had just departed from the Great Hall, and all of the Halloween festivities there.

Ron trudged down the hallway with his two friends, a somewhat sceptical look plastered on his face at one of his friend's excitement of the matter. His other friend, Harry Potter, was quite the opposite, seeming to dread the entire situation.

Much of their journey was marked with silence, as the three descended further into a rarely used section of the Hogwart's dungeons. At least, none of the Gryffindors had been down here much, probably.

"I bet the Slytherins practically live down here! Me, well, this is the first time I've been down here besides for Potions." Ron murmured, looking around at the slightly unfamiliar walls.

Harry felt like echoing his friend's sentiment, it certainly was unusual for any of them to be down here, let alone at seven o'clock on a Saturday night. The date fit the atmosphere nicely, though.

As they continued further, an ethereal glow appeared once they rounded the bend. The bright, blue glow from hundreds of candles was thrown against the cold stone walls, casting long shadows and flickering with the numerous drafts that ran through the old castle.

In all, the atmosphere began to degrade further, plunging the three students further into the world of the dead they were entreating upon. The air began to chill, and each of the three pulled their garments tighter to bundle up. As Harry and Ron cast worrying glances towards each other, they saw the horrific visage each projected. The glow made each of them seem to take on the pale, unearthly colour they had seen in the ghosts of Hogwarts.

These thoughts were interrupted when a sound flitted into the air. Looking towards Hermione, she appeared to waver slightly, but trudged onwards with determination.

"Is that supposed to be _music?_" whispered Ron.

His question went unanswered as they rounded the corner, coming upon the Gryffindor ghost, who was known to most as "'Nearly-Headless' Nick".

With a flourish in one, great arcing motion, the spirit took his hat off of his ghostly head, bowing.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully, "Welcome…. Welcome… so pleased you could come…."

Within the room was an unearthly sight. This dungeon, which Hermione had said hadn't been used in at _least_ three hundred years (according to _Hogwarts, A History_) was now bristling with life. Or as close to life as the dead could get, at least.

"Are all deathsday parties this… extravagant?" queried Hermione. She was somewhat taken aback at the sheer _number_ of ghosts and ghouls and _'Whatever else they preferred to be called, there's hundreds! I'm sure they have a well-established system of nomenclature for the differences in situations for all the spirits…'_ she thought.

"No, not usually," pronounced Nick, in the same tone he had greeted them before, cutting off Hermione's musing. "This is quite a big event, I've been dead five hundred years now. In celebration, I invited all you see assembled here. Of course they came, seeing how momentous of an occasion this is."

His gaze flicked over the room of assembled spirits. While Nick had certainly sounded excited when he invited Harry a week ago, he didn't seem to be in quite as good of a mood as before. Though, remembering the day you died would probably take the top off your cheer, Harry figured.

The mass of ghosts, which seemed to blend into one form, swayed to the tune that they had heard down the hallway. In the crowd, Harry spotted two more of the Hogwart's ghosts, the Bloody Baron and the Fat Friar. He pointed them out to Ron, Hermione had apparently drifted off someplace else.

"What is _that?_" Ron gasped in horror, gesturing towards a table against the wall.

"That appears to be the food they're serving here," answered Harry, "I wonder how they taste it?"

"If you walk through it, you can just almost get a hint of it…" piped up one ghost forlornly.

Harry supposed that was right, he could almost taste the food from here, it was so rotten.

'_It's good we skipped the feast to come here, otherwise we would have lost our supper.'_ thought Harry sarcastically, and mentally rolling his eyes.

Hermione came back, rushing somewhat, trying to hide behind Ron and Harry. At an inquisitive glance from the two, she explained.

"I'm hiding from Myrtle, Moaning Myrtle…"

"Who?" asked Ron loudly.

"Shh! Don't draw attention to us!" Hermione whispered back.

"_Who?_" Ron mimicked, in somewhat of a stage whisper.

"Myrtle, she's a ghost who haunts the second-floor girls' bathroom, I don't want to talk to her."

Unfortunately, the three living inhabitants were somewhat of a beacon, and the guest Hermione didn't want to meet soon drifted over to them.

"Oh, hello Myrtle." Hermione said in a falsely cheerful tone, ducking out from behind Harry. "It certainly is nice to see you about."

The bespectacled ghost gave Hermione a withering glare, "Why, I do have to get out sometimes, you know." Soon Myrtle's attention was focused on the other two in the group. "Oh! This must be Harry Potter! I would know you anywhere, with how much those girls talk about you…" she trailed off, grinning at Harry.

Feeling discomfort, he shifted around slightly, extending his hand in offering a handshake then quickly remembering he was greeting a ghost. "Er, right. Yes, I am. Myrtle, is it? Nice to meet you… This is my mate Ron, by the way." He elbowed his red-headed friend, looking at him and giving an apologizing glance, trying to deflect some of Myrtle's attention away from him.

Ron, of course, was worse under pressure than Harry, though in a different way, "You haunt a _bathroom? Really?_" he said it in such an incredulous tone, it was nearly impossible not to take offence.

"Well, yes." Myrtle replied sharply, "I'm rather attached to the place, it's quite lovely once you get used to it, you know. But I guess you wouldn't know anything besides Quidditch and eating, would you?"

Getting a somewhat sheepish grin from Ron only served to spur her on further, as she prepared to rip into him more.

"It's always the same with you boys, no matter how many years pass, no matter what year it is! Honestly, I…" she paused, her gaze settling behind Hermione towards the doorway and Nick. "Oh, there she is..." Myrtle drifted off, distracted.

"What's with her?" Ron asked, sounding offended.

"Honestly, Ronald. How could anyone _not_ taken that badly, the way you said it?"

Ron and Hermione traded a few jibes back and forth before Harry spoke up, "Oh, it's another student, I wonder who they are?"

Turning towards where Myrtle went, they could clearly see the fourth living member now in the dungeon.

"Oh, I think that's Loo… Luna Lovegood, Gin told me about her once." said Ron, knowledgeable on something for the first time in a while.

"She's a first year Ravenclaw, right? I remember when she was sorted."

"Oh, right, me and Ron missed that this year…"

"'Ron and I missed that this year.', Harry." Hermione corrected.

"Right then, you two. I wonder what she's doing here? Myrtle invited her?" Upon seeing nods in confirmation from Harry and Hermione, he continued, "Merlin, I suppose she's _Loony_ enough to come to a deathsday bash. Gin said she was a bit odd, but this much…"

"What does that mean we are then?" Harry chimed in, a mirthful grin playing across his features at Ron's expected reply.

"Oh, well, I suppose it's just… us, y'know? Like last year. We three just sorta do these things. We're nothing like her!"

"Whatever you say, mate."

Looking at Luna, Harry could see why she might be known as a bit odd. She drifted into the crowd of ghosts much like she was one of them, the turnips dangling from her ears in a mockery of earrings swayed as she walked, and her wand was precariously placed above them.

Behind Luna floated in another ghost, who Nick regained some of his fervour to greet. "Welcome, Patrick." By the time he had gotten to the other ghost's name, he lost all of the small cheer in his voice.

"Nick! It's good to see you again." Sir Patrick was very jovial. He scanned the room for a few moments, quickly settling his eyes on Ron, Hermione, and Harry. "Live 'uns!" And after a few moments, it shifted to Luna, "Four live ones-!"

With an exaggerated lurch, his head fell off, tumbled through the air, and continued the sentence, "Oh my! Four live ones, Nick! I thought this was a deathday party!"

The assembled ghosts howled with laughter, amused with Sir Patrick's antics. Soon, he joined the rest of the Headless Hunt who were present, and they began gallivanting.

The remaining time dragged on, Nearly-Headless Nick got up, tried to get attention to begin his speech, but was cut off by the revelry produced by the Headless Hunt attendees. With a somewhat offended look, he mumbled to himself a little and floated back down, sulking.

The cold seemed to intensify, and combined with their empty stomachs, they managed to convince Hermione to leave. The three somehow managed to escape from the dungeon room without anyone noticing, and they hastily made a retreat for the upper levels of the castle.

'_rip… tear… kill…'_

The same voice Harry had heard earlier, in Lockhart's office, resounded through the halls. Quickly, he made for the side, pressing his ear against the stone.

"What're you—"

"Shh!" he glared, closing his eyes and concentrating on the voice.

'…_soo hungry… for so long…'_

When a look of understanding flushed across Harry's face, Ron and Hermione's showed confusion. "Can't you two hear it? Listen!"

'_kill… time to… kill…'_

The voice trailed off, getting too faint to understand, but Harry could still hear the sibilant murmurings. Quickly, he detached his ear from the cold stone, rubbing it a bit to warm it up.

"It's moving! Quick, it sounded like it was going up." He quickly dashed towards the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall, leaving Ron and Hermione to attempt to catch up frantically. Three pairs of footsteps clambered up the stairway, with another, distant set resounding still through the cold dungeon halls. The deathday party's music did not reach to the stairway.

Reaching the ground floor, Harry stopped for a moment, looked around, and hearing nothing over the din coming from the Great Hall, ascended the stairs again, to the first floor. Seeing his two friends lagging behind, he shouted back to them, "This way!"

'_I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!'_

Frantic at the hurried tone of the voice, Harry bounded up the stairs once more, heading to the second floor, winding through and heading a seemingly random direction. His two friends were close behind, with confused looks on their faces. They nearly tripped when they gave one another a questioning look, then Ron and Hermione continued to follow Harry.

Suddenly, he stopped. Once Ron and Hermione had caught up to him, they began panting, somewhat winded and not running off the adrenaline their friend was. "What… was that?" Hermione managed to choke out between breaths.

Receiving no reply, she looked around, and coming across the end of the passageway, she gasped, "_Look!"_ she pointed towards what had caught her eye.

They slowly approached the end of the passage, where the silver glow grew in intensity. It was now Harry who was slightly behind. The paint, or whatever it was on the wall, reflected off of a small puddle of water on the stone floor.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN

OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

"What—" Ron began, before he stopped when he heard the low rumble of students approaching. His gaze was drawn from the petrified Mrs. Norris hanging from the light fixture, and he turned to the source of the noise—the deluge of students leaving the Great Hall at the end of the Halloween feast.

Feebly, they tried to back away as the rumble approached, and the wave stopped, silent at the sight before them. Then, a shout broke through.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

Draco Malfoy had placed himself at the fore of the crowd, a triumphant grin plastered across his face at the sight laid before him and the rest of the school. The silence fell back, save for a few, quiet whispers.

"My cat, Mrs. Norris!" Filch pushed his way through the crowd, reaching for his companion, but not willing to touch her. He turned, wheeling upon Harry. "_You!_ What have you done to her? You've killed her, I'll kill you!"

"_Argus!"_

Dumbledore and a few other teachers swept through the crowd, drawn by the same noise the caretaker was. The Headmaster quickly took Mrs. Norris down from the torch, "Come along, Argus. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, you three follow as well. I'll have an explanation for this all." He said, all hints of the kindness taken from his words.

A bundle of dirty, blonde hair shoved through the crowd and spoke up, "Headmaster, I was with them before…"

"Very well then," Dumbledore interrupted, "I'll have you along to explain, as well Miss… Lovegood."He paused a moment before he could recall her name.

"My office is very close, Headmaster, if you would like…" Lockhart stepped forward. "It's just upstairs, a short way."

"Thank you, Gilderoy." Dumbledore said congenially, some of his trademark kindness returning, before his expression hardened once more. As he strode forward, towards the stairs, the crowd parted for him, allowing himself, Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Lockhart, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and finally Luna to pass through the crowd.

Everyone rushed to keep up with the spry old man, seemingly energised by tonight's events. They soon found themselves in Lockhart's office, the many photos of the vain man scattered from the light, hiding. The real one buzzed about, lighting his candles and banishing the darkness, as Dumbledore laid Mrs. Norris on the table, and began to examine her. He peered intently, his face close to her, occasionally he would reach out and poke some bit.

McGonagall sat back, worried, casting glares at the three Gryffindors, while Snape looked as pleased as he could be, while still somewhat neutral. Lockhart fluttered about, making odd suggestions as to the feline's ailment. Filch only wept, his sobs the only real noise, sometimes he dared to cry over Lockhart when he was speaking, and earned a glare from the Defence teach for his trouble.

The Golden Trio only sat, looking very wary. The other student, Luna, seemed to be disconnected from reality, dreamily buzzing and glancing all around the room, not at all being concerned.

With a final prod from his index finger, Dumbledore announced, "She is certainly not dead, as I'm you'll be glad to know, Argus."

"Not dead...? She's all..."

"Petrified." Snape interrupted, curling his lip.

"Yes, fortunately, as fortunate as this could be, Mrs. Norris is a victim of Petrification. I cannot, however, understand the method." said Dumbledore.

Filch turned towards Harry, glaring, "Ask him! He must have done it to her! He saw I was... he must have done it!"

"He couldn't have possibly done it, Mr. Filch." Luna said somewhat detached, as if not all there, "I was with him all throughout the feast."

"In any case, any sort of dark magic which would cause such an effect is well beyond the abilities of any second year student." announced Dumbledore with finality.

"Perhaps," Snape began, "Mr. Potter and his _friends_ merely found themselves in the wrong place, at a rather inopportune time. Though, I would not imagine what these four would have been doing away from the feast..."

Harry sighed, somewhat relieved. He never expected to hear any words that would help him coming from Snape of all people. Even though the last sentence definitely didn't sit well.

"Professor, if I may..." Hermione interjected.

"Very well, go on then, Miss Granger."

"Thank you. Last week, Harry was invited..." Hermione began the tale behind the deathday party, with assistance from Harry, and Ron at times. Harry skipped over the voice he had heard, it sounded far too nonsensical

"And so immediately after, you three decided to forgo the remainder of the feast? I can't imagine the ghosts served palatable food..." Snape dug into the story, trying to find some point.

"We weren't hungry... sir." Ron added the last bit in a rush, and it was punctuated by the rumbling of his stomach.

"We all... wanted to go to bed." Harry said, beginning confidently, but he had deflated by the end of the sentence from the Potion Master's glare.

"So Miss Lovegood, you had said you had watched these three throughout the entire feast?" Dumbledore cleared the air, involving the fourth student that had been rushed into this office.

"From around an hour and a half ago, yes, Headmaster." Luna said, then added, "Though, I didn't see them the entire time, they were running quite a bit right before, but I certainly heard them. They definitely couldn't have done this."

Luna's gaze met Dumbledore's, and after a moment, his features softened. "Unfortunately, it seems we have lost the perpetrator. It appears these four are telling the truth."

"I want _punishment_, Headmaster! My cat has been petrified!" Filch howled, turning his indignant gaze towards Harry.

"Fortunately for Mr. Potter, he is innocent. Though, his reasons for coming upon the spot seem a bit flimsy." There was a pregnant pause. "Do not worry, though, Argus. Professor Sprout will be able to cure Mrs. Norris from her affliction soon. She has just received a load of Mandrakes."

The caretaker softened at this a little, but still looked angrily at the students.

The four students were soon dismissed, and went to bed, fearful of being caught in the hallways past curfew.

* * *

"...Remember the water? On the floor here?"

Ron was shuddering, Hermione had just been teasing him about a trail of spiders they had found on the second floor near the location of the attack. The three students had gone there following the most exciting History of Magic class ever—before Binns had grown exasperated with legends and myths and went back to teaching as usual.

"Oh, that was about..." Ron gathered himself, and strode over to a door, away from the wall Mrs. Norris had been found on. "Here. It was about near this door."

"That's Moaning Myrtle's toilet. No one goes in there..." Hermione added.

"Right then." Harry said, extending his hand towards the brass knob, and opening it.

The bathroom was the same design as any other. However, the sign on the door, which had proclaimed this bathroom as "OUT OF ORDER" wasn't far off. Broken tiles, sinks, and mirrors were abound. There were a few doors on the restroom stalls which were hanging by a single hinge.

Stepping forward, since she had been here before, Hermione cried out, "Hello? Myrtle, are you here?"

"Of course I'm here..." The ghost Harry had met for the first time a few nights ago spoke dejectedly, "What's to bring you here? No one ever comes in here..."

"I just wanted to show these two how... interesting of a place this is." Hermione couldn't find a good and truthful word to describe the bathroom.

"They're not girls, but..." Myrtle looked at Harry, "It is nice to have visitors sometimes. There's only been one recently, and a weeping girl isn't very good company." She frowned, but seeing the confused faces, she continued. "That other girl at the party, she came in a few days before the deathday party. She was sobbing and murmuring in that corridor right over there. Poor thing. She wasn't frightened at all when I asked her what was wrong, pretending it was all right. She seemed interested, so I ran and got Nick to invite her to his party... But I don't suppose you all just came here to chat, really, did you?"

Stepping forward, Harry shamefully admitted, "Er, no. Not quite. I was wondering if you had seen anyone unusual, around the time Mrs. Norris was found."

"I was still at the party, you know... but before then, before I went to it, I didn't see anyone anywhere near. The hallway, when I floated through it, was clear."

"Thanks, then." With nothing more to do, Harry left the bathroom, somewhat confused about what to do next. Certainly, whatever it was, it didn't involve the second floor girl's lavatory.

The trio gathered in the common room that night, working on various bits of assignments they had.

"Honestly, who would do that?" Hermione muttered, putting her Charms book down for a moment.

"Do wha?" Ron asked, confused.

"Open the Chamber of Secrets... who would want to do that? I can't find out anything: I left my copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ at home, and the checkout list at the library has a three week wait!"

"Isn't it obvious?" Ron finally had something he had an answer for. "Who was the first one to say anything after we found Mrs. Norris? Malfoy! If it wasn't him, I'm sure one of the Slytherins did it. It has to be them. Maybe he's the one, it makes sense, y'know?"

"Malfoy... the Heir?" Unsure, Hermione added, "Well, I suppose he _might_ be a possible suspect..."

"Anyone _might_ be a possible suspect, besides us, as far as we know. How would we prove anything?" Harry asked.

"I don't..." Hermione paused midsentence, "There is a way." Conspiratorially, she leaned down onto the table, motioning for the other two to come closer so she could whisper. "We'd be breaking about fifty rules... but if we could get inside the Slytherin common room, and ask Malofy questions, in disguise..."

"How's that..." Ron asked in his normal voice, then quieted down, "How's that supposed to be possible? We can't just strut into the Slytherin common room."

"Remember the Polyjuice Potion?" Seeing that they didn't, Hermione continued, "Professor Snape mentioned it a few weeks ago. With a sample of say, someone's hair, it allows you to take their form for up to an hour. But it's probably really difficult to brew. He mentioned what book the recipe it was in, I looked it up: it's in the Restricted Section."

"So we just need to get a teacher to sign a form to let us take a book out that will let us transform into other people? I'll ask Snape next time in Potions, then." Harry added sarcastically.

"Well... if you put it that way..." Hermione withered, "But, suppose you were interested in _only_ the theory, and the teacher didn't know _what_ was in the book, besides just general potions..."

"That'd have to be a really thick teacher..." Realisation dawned over Ron's face.

"Exactly." Hermione grinned.

Soon enough, the topic diverged to their Charms work, and since Hermione soon finished, she headed off towards the girls' dormitory to go to sleep. Meanwhile, Harry and Ron remained behind in the common room, working on a Potions assignment Hermione had finished earlier in the week.

"I wonder what she was doing there..." Harry murmured, more to himself than anything.

"Huh? What who was doing where when?" Ron jumped on the chance to take a break from his essay. Even though he was already far behind schedule.

"What that girl, Luna, was doing in Myrtle's bathroom?"

"Oh, her," Ron waved his hand in the air dismissively, "Probably some _loony_ business or something. She's absolutely nuts. And what more, her father runs _The Quibbler_!" Ron finished incredulously.

"_The Quibbler?_"

"Yeah, it's some odd little paper, always talking about some Rotfang conspiracy or Crumple Horned Whatsits or stuff. Nonsense, the lot of it. Gin says the girl's mad, everyone calls her _Loony_ Lovegood, they do."

Harry decided to leave it at that, for now. Apparently Ron was going to be of no assistance in this matter. Soon enough, Harry and Ron finished what work they had left, and were willing to tackle for now.

The next morning found Harry in the Great Hall earlier than usual. There weren't too many students assembled yet. A few owls fluttered about, delivering the bits of mail to the people that were "crazy enough to get up this early", as Ron put it.

That reminded Harry of the conversation last night he had with Ron, about the first year which had contributed to their story on Halloween night. Looking around, he quickly found her, thanking an owl who had just delivered some magazine or something to her, it wasn't the _Daily Prophet_

As he approached the Ravenclaw table where she was seated, he stared at what she was reading.

'_The Quibbler? Ron said he father publishes that... But why is it upside down?'_

"Generally, when you walk up to someone, you greet them." Luna's voice shook Harry from his thoughts. While the words might have indicated she was perturbed, she had said them in such an airy tone that she couldn't possibly have been irritated at all.

"Ah... sorry, hullo, then."

Luna was still reading, but she nodded slightly.

"I just wanted to uh," Harry had to think about what he wanted to do, "Yes, I wanted to thank you for the other night... Halloween night, that is. Oh," he stuck out his hand, "It's nice to meet you, you're Luna Lovegood, right?"

She finally put down her magazine, her silver grey eyes swivelled and fixated themselves on his face, then traced down his arm, to the hand he extended. She looked at it warily for a moment, before taking it in one hand, and beginning to trace lines on Harry's palm with the other.

"Excuse me... what exactly are you doing?" The whole situation made him rather uncomfortable, for some reason. _'Probably a good reason.'_

"Oh, I'm..." she stopped, and took his hand, shaking it, "Yes, my name's Luna Lovegood, and you're Harry Potter." She let go, and stared at him again, before breaking her gaze, shifting it towards Snape, who was entering the Great Hall and taking his seat at the table, amongst the many others who were beginning to file in. "You're welcome. Though I don't know why you're thanking me for the party, it wasn't mine."

Harry stopped, confused for a moment, "That's... not exactly what I meant. What I had meant was, 'Thank you for telling the Headmaster you had seen me—" he corrected himself," Ron, Hermione, and I that night with Mrs. Norris.'"

"Oh, that." The food had appeared on the tables, signifying the beginning of breakfast, and she began to pick and choose what to eat. "You don't need to thank me for telling the truth."

Luna left him standing there, saying nothing more. After a few moments, he realised how ridiculous he looked, and went back over to the Gryffindor table.

Ron was there, shovelling the multitude of breakfast stuffs onto his plate, before vacuuming them up in a supernatural display of eating prowess. "Hwat tha' 'bou?" he managed to choke out, the word struggling through the food.

"Huh? Oh, I was just trying to thank her for the other night." Harry began gathering food onto his plate as he sat down, in a much more restrained manner than Ron had done.

"Trying? She probably went off about those wrackspurts or somenot. She's barking," Ron animatedly leaned in for the next part, as if he was afraid someone was going to hear, "She's _Loony!"_

"She's not _that_ bad," Harry relented, "She's just a bit... _odd._"

Ron looked at Harry like _he _was the odd one.

* * *

"In here," Hermione lead the way back to Myrtle's bathroom, confident they could read the book they had miraculously procured.

Myrtle was off in some corner of the room, and from the sound of it, making a tremendous noise.

"Here it is," Hermione crooned, leaning over the mouldy pages, as the two boys crowded around to get a look at the recipe. "This is an amazingly complicated potion..."

"So it's impossible then?" Ron said somewhat cheerfully, glad to find an excuse.

"No, no. Not quite. I mean, certainly, it will be a challenge to brew, and getting the ingredients will somewhat of a chore, but it's doable. I think." Hermione bit her lip uncertainly, feeling up to the challenge.

"Ingredients? Why would those be hard?" Harry had only looked over a few on the list, he recognised most of them.

"Well, see this? 'Powdered horn of bicorn', 'shredded skin of boomslang', those two will be difficult to get, I'm not entirely sure _how_ we'll get them."

Harry nodded a bit uncertainly, scanning the list over once more, "How long is this going to take?"

"Since the fluxweed has to be picked on the full moon, and the lacewings stirred for twenty-one days... a month."

"There's nothing to do about that, then."

"I'm sure we can find those two other ingredients _somewhere,_ and they aren't added until last, along with the bit of the person you'll transform into."

"Wait, we have to _drink_ part of Malfoy?" Ron was shocked and disgusted. "That's it... I..."

"Oh, come on!" Hermione exclaimed, seeing the look on Harry's face as well, "I certainly don't want to have to go through all of this, especially since the only place to get these ingredients is probably within Professor Snape's _private_ potion stores. Nor am I that enthralled to imbibe part of a Slytherin, but we're doing this to find out who's after the Muggle-Borns. I think doing that is _well_ worth breaking a few rules and feeling a bit squeamish."

"I suss we'll go right on with it, then." Ron announced glumly, and only got nods in confirmation. "Let's go off to dinner now, I'm _famished_."

* * *

The next morning saw the first Quidditch match of the year, between Gryffindor and Slytherin. As expected from every match at Hogwarts, the expected turnout was going to be gigantic. And the fervour of the crowd at this particular match-up was always the most heated.

Harry was a bit nervous about the match. The entire Slytherin team was situated on brooms a model above his own stellar broom. Even though this was true, the fanatical Gryffindor Captain, Oliver Wood, would _never_ forgive a loss, especially one against Slytherin.

The school began to slowly shuffle out of the castle around half past ten, the great migration from the remnants of breakfast to the Quidditch pitch was second only to the massive gathering of people when terms broke or resumed.

The muggy air had a hint of thunder permeating, Harry hoped it would hold until the end of the match. He made his way to the locker room of the Gryffindor team, his other teammates already there. Quickly slipping on his Quidditch robes, he prepared for the always-heated Oliver Wood pre-game pep talk.

"Right then. There's not much to say. They've _undoubtedly _got better brooms, but we've _definitely_ got better people on _our_ brooms." Wood began, "We'll just have to go out there and kick their arses! We'll show their team that the mark of a good Seeker is something other than having a rich father, right Harry?"

"Right." Harry confirmed, a bit thrown-off.

"No pressure—" George began.

"—at all." finished Fred.

The rest of the team chuckled. Wood went over a quick review of some of the tactics they had practiced in the last weeks, but was fairly confident in his team. They had worked together all of last year, so he was less worried than usual.

The team trudged their way onto the pitch, and the roar that erupted was tremendous. It seemed like three-fourths of the school cheered out.

'_It's not surprising, I bet the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws are eager to see Slytherin beat as much as the Gryffindors.'_

Harry watched as Wood lined up with Slytherin's Captain, Flint. When Madam Hooch prompted, they shook hands, but their eyes were locked in a gaze, and one could clearly see the tensing of their hands in a brutal handshake. They unclasped their hands and got in position with the rest of their teams.

"On my whistle..." Hooch crowed out, "One... two..."

The fourteen players rose the moment they heard the shrill, metallic sound of the whistle.

"Don't get left behind, Potter!" Malfoy darted under Harry, intent on showing of the difference in their brooms.

He was about to retort, when he swerved to one side to avoid a Bludger. Harry saw one of the twins raise a hand somewhat apologetically. Shrugging it off, Harry ascended more, intent to get a better vantage point, and to get away from the Bludgers and the Chasers.

The Bludger seemed to have other ideas, as it quickly rounded, shooting up and ascending to Harry's level, coming up from underneath him. Once more, he managed to bob out of the way.

The twins, catching sight of this, made their way, one of them swinging a bat and knocking the offending ball far to the other side of the pitch, towards one of the Slytherin Chasers. Unfortunately, it slowed, and like a rubber band, began to accelerate back towards Harry.

At this, the three Gryffindors dealing with the situation were quite flummoxed. It was quite contrary to the nature of a Bludger to behave like this, and each deflected hit by the twins only increased the unlikelihood, and also increased everyone's suspicions.

"—And Angelina misses! Rotten luck, that is."

Harry could hear the announcements of Lee Jordan still, but they were soon drowned out as the sky opened and it began to rain. At first, it was a light drizzle.

"Sly—scores ... fifty" Jordan's voice was now barely discernable over the intensifying barrage, both from the rain and the persistent Bludger.

"This is absurd!" Fred shouted, regaining his balance from a strike.

"Too right you are." George signalled to Wood for a time out, and shortly, Hooch called all the players off their brooms down towards the ground.

"What's going on?" Wood demanded, "Where were you two when that Bludger prevented Angelina from scoring?"

"We were trying to stop the other Bludger from lopping poor Harry's head off!" George shouted back. "That bloody thing's fixated on him, it's not quite right. I bet one of the Slytherins fixed it." He looked over to the Slytherin team, who were gathered and looking quite triumphant with their current sixty point lead.

"That's impossible, the balls have been locked in Hooch's office constantly. No one could have tampered with them."

"Well, there's something wrong with them!"

Hooch began drifting over, probably asking when the Gryffindor team was going to call for the match to resume.

"We can't do anything about it now," said Harry, "Fred, George, please don't worry about me, I'll handle that rogue Bludger on my own."

"You'll get your head bashed in, Harry." Fred declared.

"I'll manage somehow. Besides, I'll never get the snitch with you two buzzing about me like you were." Harry said it with a sense of finality that only Wood could properly disagree.

"I suppose we'll have to do that," Wood sighed, "If we called for an inquiry, we'd have to forfeit the game. Harry," he clasped his Seeker's shoulder encouragingly, "Stay safe."

Wood signalled to Hooch that they were ready to resume play, and on her whistle, once more the fourteen players sailed into the grey clouds, pelted by the cold November rain.

Harry weaved, bobbed, dashed, darted, and made ever sort of manoeuvre and handling he could to attempt to avoid the Bludger which wouldn't give him any room to breathe.

"Training for the ballet?" Malfoy mocked.

Harry turned towards the voice, and saw the glimmer of the snitch above Malfoy's ear. The gleam was subdued by the heavy rain, which probably also drowned out the sound of its wings fluttering, so Malfoy was unaware of its presence.

Standing there is semi-shock at the situation, the Bludger took its chance, careening into Harry's right arm. The pain seared and Harry barely maintained his balance as Draco jeered at Harry, before his face twisted into shock and confusion and Harry began to accelerate towards the blonde boy.

"What are you—" Malfoy barely began as Harry zoomed towards him, and he saw Harry's left hand relinquish its grip on his _Nimbus Two-Thousand._

He could barely maintain his balance, as he attempted to reach out in one last, desperate gambit to snatch the snitch. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he was within range of Malfoy, who had turned and was attempting to get out of the way. Triumphantly, Harry's left hand enclosed the snitch, grasping and securing it.

With only his legs securing him to his broom, and leaning forward heavily, he now lost all of his balance, falling towards the wet earth.

He landed as softly as could be expected, and Harry could only feebly look up to the sky as rain dotted his already soaked glasses. Quickly, people came to his assistance, after Hooch's whistle announced the end of the game.

Through his glasses, he could make out Lockhart leaning over him, his grin present as always.

"Don't worry, Harry." Lockhart begun, looking at Harry's arm, "I'll fix this right up for you."

"Don't—" Harry shifted, but leaned on his arm as he tried to sit up, then slumped back onto the ground in pain.

"Nonsense, I've done this hundreds of times. Stand back, you lot." Lockhart motioned for the assembled people to give him some space, as he began to roll up one of his rain-soaked sleeves, seemingly in preparation for a spell.

"He really should—" Wood began, before getting interrupted.

Harry had heard the distinctive _click_ of a camera, as he shouted out, "Please, Colin, no pictures of this."

Lockhart did an unfamiliar series of jabs and swishes with his wand, before it came to rest on Harry's right arm. Suddenly, it didn't hurt anymore.

Of course, it didn't feel like _anything_ he really knew anymore. It felt odd.

"Wobbly. This feels—" Harry deadpanned, not sure what else he could say in this situation. He had suddenly been gifted clarity, now that the throbbing pain didn't exist anymore.

"Certainly, Harry! Your arm is no longer broken," Lockhart lowered his voice a little before adding, "Can't have a broken arm without any bones."

Harry fainted, too tired from battling the pain to care about much else right now.

* * *

"This is going to be very painful," Pomfrey began to lecture, "Honestly, I fixing a broken arm is no problem, regrowing _thirty-three_ bones, however, is something else."

"You can do it, though?" Harry asked. He didn't look forward to a life with a right arm that felt like jelly and couldn't do anything.

"I certainly can, Mr. Potter. But it will be very painful," Pomfrey hefted a large jug with a label plastered on the side, 'Skele-Gro'. "You'll be out of here after tomorrow, though. You'll have to spend the night, I'm afraid."

Harry shrugged. He didn't expect much else different. Quidditch, while exhilarating, had an unfortunate tendency to leave him incapacitated in the Hospital Wing after matches.

"You can't certainly say anything nice about that git now, can you?" Ron asked, having just entered the Hospital Wing along with Hermione.

"It... " Hermione tried to retort, being quite unable, "At least it doesn't hurt anymore, right Harry?"

"Right." Harry leaned forward, preparing his stomach for the inevitable.

Pomfrey measured out Harry's dose of Skele-Gro, before he imbibed the concoction, nearly gagging. After it was down, he reached for a glass of water from his bed table as Pomfrey went off somewhere else. After stopping the coughs that were wracking his body, he rested his head on his pillow, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he saw the somewhat concerned faces of Hermione and Ron.

The look faded as the remainder of the Gryffindor team made their way into the Hospital Wing, triumphant but worrying visages painted across them all.

"This is some sort of a post-game retreat for you, isn't it Harry?" George asked good naturedly, knowing Harry wouldn't take offence.

"Certainly," Harry could only reply sarcastically, "I really _love_ this place."

The other twin dashed over towards his bed, exclaiming, "The look on Malfoy's face was priceless! I wonder if Colin got a shot of it? I guess he was miffed him fixing the Bludger didn't do anything."

"I still don't know _how_ he could have done that," Wood added, unsure, "But good flying out there."

At all the fuss, Madame Pomfrey came into the Hospital Wing, shouting at everyone crowded around Harry's bed, "You lot! Get out! Mr. Potter needs all the rest he can get tonight, to regrow that arm of his!"

Silence reigned in over the Hospital Wing once more. Soon enough, Harry fell asleep, exhausted from the day's events.

A light shuffling of fabric woke Harry up. The rain was still continuing, though it was considerably lighter now, if the splattering on the Hospital Wing's windows were any indication.

Luna sat in the chair to the right of Harry's bed, one of the crimson flags clasped in her hands. Obviously, she had been cheering along with most of the school for Gryffindor against the Slytherins. Looking around, he could see that she had probably added the weird charm thing which was now sitting on his bedside table.

Seeing that he was staring at it, trying to divine its purpose, Luna spoke up, "It's to stop the wrackspurts from going through your ears."

Harry looked around, trying to see where these mythical things were. Seeing nothing, he could only chuckle, remembering that Ron had mentioned them before.

Luna pursed her lips a bit at the chuckle, withdrawing somewhat, "They're invisible, you know. So it's no use looking around. They especially like injured people, when they're sleeping. This charm," she motioned to the gaudy decoration on the table, some amalgamation of seemingly random bits of fabric, metal, and other things, "Protects you, well, once it stays in place for long enough. But don't worry, it doesn't take that long, and you're safe from them now."

"How long have you—?"Harry began, before getting cut off.

"Not long at all. Good bye" Luna quickly got up, and strode off. It was still only the late afternoon, but it was dreadfully quiet now.

Harry was somewhat afraid he had offended her. Deciding there was little else he could do at the time, he drifted back, pain from the bone regrowth beginning to grow in intensity.


	2. The Fool's Attempted Triumph

NB: Things start to move a bit more now, even though it feels painfully similar.

* * *

It was dark, but that didn't stop the intense pain from racking Harry's arm. Upon waking up, he grunted a bit in recognition of it. He was at least soothed by a gentle sponging of cool water on his forehead.

"What?" Harry gasped before looking around and seeing the glow reflecting from Dobby's large eyes. "_Dobby!_"

"Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter. Dobby told and warned Harry Potter to not come back to school, he did! But Harry Potter came to school, even when he missed the train!" The little elf was on the point of being distraught.

Harry motioned with his one good arm and hand for Dobby to quiet down a little, "Shh! _Why are you here?_" Harry himself whispered, though it came out in a quick hiss, his frustration seeping through.

"Dobby didn't mean for Harry Potter to turn out like this," Dobby was interrupted.

"_You!_ You did this?" Harry asked, and only seeing a glum nod from the elf, he continued, "And the train, that was you, too?"

Dobby nodded again, "Dobby only wanted Harry Potter to leave Hogwarts, it's far too dangerous at Hogwarts for Harry Potter."

"Of course it's dangerous here if I have you here! Get out of here before I strangle you!" Harry said in a harsh whisper.

Dobby restrained a wail, sniffling and wiping his long nose on one corner of his pillowcase, "Dobby is used to death threats, he gets them a lot from home." He remained resolute, "But Dobby had to try to protect Harry Potter."

"Why do you care about me? And you call this protection?"

"Ever since Harry Potter got rid of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, we House Elves have had it a lot better. Of course, it is still bad, but it would be nothing like if he was still around!" Dobby seemed to be honest, very thankful for something Harry couldn't even remember, "But if Harry Potter stays at Hogwarts, he will be in great danger, much worse than even this."Dobby finished, motioning to Harry's aching arm.

"Much worse that _this?"_

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open—"Dobby froze, and quickly picked up the water jug on Harry's table, bashing himself over the head several times, before Harry restrained him.

"Why am I in danger, Dobby? I'm not a Muggle-Born." Harry said, as calmly as he could. All he anger had evaporated, now that he had some more information.

"Dobby can't say, Harry Potter! Go home!"

"I can't go home, some of my friends are Muggle-Born!"

By now, their conversation had risen in volume, back to normal speaking levels. Thankfully, Dobby had restrained himself somewhat, and Madame Pomfrey still hadn't crept out from her office yet.

"The great Harry Potter wants to protect his friends…" Dobby began tearing up, but paused when he heard footsteps, "Dobby must go!" He vanished.

Soon enough, the footsteps grew louder, and the door leading from the hall into the Hospital Wing opened, Dumbledore stepping into the darkness with something in his hands. As he proceeded, Professor McGonagall came in, holding the other end of _something_.

That thing, though it seemed to be a person, was placed on a nearby bed, while Dumbledore bade McGonagall to get Madame Pomfrey.

Soon enough, a drowsy Pomfrey made her way from her quarters, "What is this? What's going on?" she whispered.

Harry was doing an excellent job pretending to be asleep, but all his attention was focused on hearing what exactly was transpiring.

"It seems this is the second attack," Dumbledore answered sighing, "Minerva found him on the stairs."

"He was most likely sneaking up to visit Potter." McGonagall announced.

Harry could feel three pairs of eyes darting towards him, and then probably settling back to the body.

Slowly, Harry opened a single eyelid, elevating it slightly, so he could see who was attacked. He almost let out a gasp when he saw Colin, his camera raised and above his face.

"Perhaps he took a picture of his assailant?" McGonagall didn't sound very confident in her question.

Silently, Dumbledore opened the back of the camera, and the distinct smell of burnt plastic filled the air, along with a pronounced hiss of steam.

"I fear this means the Chamber has been opened." There wasn't much else to say, from the sound of it. It seemed like Dumbledore had reached a simple conclusion.

"_Who_, Albus? Who would do this?" A rare, worried look was probably spreading over Professor McGonagall's face.

"It's more the question of _how_."

Nothing else occurred that night. Eventually, Pomfrey returned to her quarters as Dumbledore and Minerva departed from the Hospital Wing. Soon, Harry drifted back into relatively painless sleep.

It was still probably early in the morning when Harry awoke. The light shining through the Hospital Wing window wasn't very bright. Looking around, he saw the bed where Dumbledore and McGonagall had placed Colin was now surrounded and covered by a high barrier of white sheets.

"Once you have your breakfast, you can leave." Pomfrey said, whilst handing Harry some sort of hospital gruel or porridge. He quickly finished it, intent on vacating the wing as soon as possible.

Shifting into his clothes, he still had to guard his right arm somewhat; it felt tender as he moved it around and through the fabric.

Picking up the charm Luna had left him, he hurried off towards the Gryffindor tower, intent on telling Ron and Hermione what he had seen in the Hospital Wing earlier this morning.

Upon arriving, he found the common room devoid of his two friends. Peeking up into the second year boys dormitory, he didn't find Ron there either. Shrugging, he tossed the charm onto his bed, and went off in search.

Since it was a Sunday, and Harry still hadn't found them, Ron was probably off somewhere at Hermione's insistence, meaning the library was a likely choice. Bumbling that direction, he ran into Percy, who congratulated Harry on his flying, saying it had earned Gryffindor fifty points for the House Cup.

Leaving the Prefect alone, Harry went off to the library, and upon finding it devoid of Ron and Hermione, he set off to the next likely place, though it was only inspired by a conversation he had just had with Percy.

As Harry gently opened the door to the second floor girls' bathroom, it was certainly quieter than last time. Apparently Moaning Myrtle wasn't weeping in her stall like she had been the last time the Golden Trio had come here to peruse _Most Potente Potions_.

Hearing shuffling from one of the stalls, he ventured over towards it, apparently drawing attention. Through the hole in the door, he saw Hermione's eye, and the door opened.

"You gave us such a scare, Harry." Hermione said, but obviously pleased Harry was out of the Hospital Wing.

"How's your arm, mate?" Ron asked, seeing the way his friend was holding his right arm.

"S'fine…" Harry trailed off, looking at the cauldron situated above the toilet, most likely heated by some fire, if the crackling sound was any indication. "So you've begun the potion?"

"Yes, we figured no one really comes in here. And if they do, we asked Myrtle if she would make sure they don't find out about it." Hermione said.

As if on cue, Myrtle came floating through the stall door. "Of course I would, I wouldn't want any of Harry's plans to be disturbed by anyone." She spoke in such a sweet, yet slightly disturbing voice. Considering it was coming from a ghost.

Hermione gave somewhat of an apologetic grin, while Ron just grinned.

Harry sighed. "Thanks, Myrtle. I hope it isn't too much trouble." His face hardened a bit, "You two won't believe what I saw, Colin was att—"

"We overheard McGonagall talking to Professor Flitwick about it." Hermione interrupted. "It's likely half the school knows by now."

"And the other half will know by supper." Ron added.

"It's even more vital now that we find out what Malfoy is up to." Hermione was going to say more, but upon seeing Harry was eager to speak again, she grew silent.

"What you two _don't_ know is that Dobby visited me in the middle of the night…" Harry regaled what information he had gleaned.

"So it's been opened before?" Hermione asked somewhat rhetorically.

"Of course, Lucius Malfoy probably opened it when _he_ was at Hogwarts." Ron chimed in.

Ignoring Ron, Hermione mused, "I wonder what sort of monster is in the Chamber?"

Harry could only shrug, "Dunno."

By the end of the day, Harry's arm had lost most of the aching which had pervaded throughout the day. The atmosphere in the Great Hall was somewhat charged in light of all the rumours that were abound.

As classes began on a new week, more and more students seemed to have little charms or boondoggles were hanging off people's necks or wrists. Apparently someone was making some sort of a venture as a result of the fervour in the air.

Checking on the Polyjuice Potion as it brewed was mostly handled by Hermione alone, since the three of them constantly going as a group to that section of the castle was likely to draw attention. Sometimes, however, Harry offered to take up the duty, and after a quick briefing from Hermione, he would go and carry out the venture.

It was in such a circumstance as this that Harry journeyed into Myrtle's bathroom, barely a week after the Quidditch match. He did the stirring he was supposed to, and made sure everything was proceeding as Hermione said it would. As he was turning to leave the restroom, Myrtle stopped him, however.

Myrtle only motioned towards one of the stalls on the other side, opposite from where the Polyjuice Potion was brewing.

Walking slowly, Harry neared the door, and over the faint bubbling over the Polyjuice Potion he heard a barely perceptible sound, like someone was sobbing.

"Hello?" Harry called out, unsure what exactly to do in this situation.

In response, the person inside the stall jolted around, and Harry could quite clearly hear the rustling of fabric, and a sniffle or two.

"Whoever's in there… are you alright?" Harry asked. Originally, he was worried about who would see him going in and out of the stall with the potion, but that was shoved towards the back of his mind with the current situation.

The stall door suddenly opened, and Harry jumped back in surprise as a blonde girl darted out, her face turned away. Lightly, he tried to catch her arm, mostly by reflex, to find out what happened.

This seemed to infuriate Luna, as she rounded, beginning to glare at Harry with her characteristically protuberant eyes, highlighted even more by the reddened skin surrounding them. She said nothing for a time, but upon seeing Harry's confused but worried expression, the angry look melted away from her face. "Please let me go."

Harry was a bit shocked how she had said it. The few times he had spoken with, or rather heard Luna speak; she had talked in such an airy, dreamy manner, as if she were really somewhere else. Now, she sounded like any other person, but afraid and somewhat ashamed.

Harry couldn't very well hold onto someone against their will, though, and as he relinquished his grip on her wrist, she sped off out of the bathroom, ignoring calls from Harry. Looking through the frame of the bathroom doorway, and seeing her quickly run down the hall, he decided it would be fruitless to chase after her at the moment. Harry decided to leave it at that, for now.

* * *

That night at supper, Harry tried to investigate and determine what exactly had occurred. He stepped carefully, still uncertain about what exactly had happened, and wanting to protect Luna's privacy for now.

Harry had managed to get a few words out of Ginny, since she shared a few classes with Luna. The youngest Weasley was still somewhat shy around Harry, and adding to that was the puckish nature she seemed to have taken on. Her complexion was noticeably paler than it had been earlier in the year, and it seemed to be steadily deteriorating.

Nevertheless, he was able to get a few bits of information from Ginny. Including the fact that _everyone_ in the first year at Hogwarts thought Luna was absolutely odd, if not crazy. From the sound of it, it was apparent she didn't have many, if any friends even within her own House.

Knowing this, Harry could imagine what was happening, having experienced it himself at the hands of Dudley and his crew. However, highlighted by the incident in the bathroom earlier, Luna probably didn't want anyone interfering. He was a bit confused at that sentiment.

'_She's back to "normal"…'_ Harry's thoughts turned towards Luna's airy nature, as he saw her exchanging a sickle for a charm she had apparently made, probably like many of the others the students had.

"Hey, Harry, whaddya say to a game of gobstones?" Ron managed to get a few words out through his mouthful of food. Hermione wasn't here to reprimand him, she was most likely off in the library, trying to find some useful tidbit.

Harry turned his attention away from the Ravenclaw first year, back towards the red-head sitting next to him, "That again?" Harry was a bit tired of gobstones; he had played it quite a bit over at the Burrow, and the year before. It seemed to be the most prominent game they played this year, besides Chess.

"Oh, there's loads more to do. We'll play one of the other variants tonight, how 'bout _Jack Stone_?" Ron asked, then explained at seeing Harry's confused face. "Just four snaps, and we compete to see who's closer to a marked stone. It's a bit shorter than the normal type."

"Hm, alright then, I suppose. I still have to do some work for DADA. Even though Lockhart's a sham of an instructor…"

It was a somewhat sad state of affairs that the only reason there was any work on that subject was because of the poring over the numerous books Lockhart had assigned. Invariably, there would be some essay on his heroic deed in _this_ book, then the next week an examination on his other deeds in _that other book_. The current assignment dealt with _Travels with Trolls_. Lockhart seemed to dart and flit about through the various works he had published, always happy to regale a tale of some other aspect of his wonderful, wonderful self.

Ever since Colin's petrification, the attitude of the student body was considerably chilled. Harry, while taking a sip of his pumpkin juice, scanned across all the tables, seeing the students leaned over, some in hushed conversation. A good number of them had those charms, probably hoping to protect themselves somehow, however vain a gesture that seemed.

His eyes caught over the Ravenclaw table, seeing Luna was no longer there. In her place he saw a few Ravenclaw first years laughing. Supper was going full swing, the food only having been served a few minutes ago. Quickly, Harry saw the flash of her hair disappearing, heading towards the Entrance Hall. On a whim, Harry decided to follow.

He barely heard Ron's confused yelp, asking where he was going.

He was fairly confident she didn't go outdoors; the sun had set a few hours ago, making the prospect unlikely. The dungeons were much the same. Quickly, Harry climbed the great staircase, trying to gain on the girl to find out what exactly was happening.

Harry really didn't know why he was going through all these lengths to find out, anyways. All he knew was he felt a kindred sense in the situation he detected.

Since the Ravenclaw dormitories where situated in a tower, much like the Gryffindor ones, he felt confident being able to climb more flights of stairs. His longer, quicker striders allowed him to take the stairs two at a time, and by the time he was ascending from the third floor, he caught sight of Luna's back, still climbing higher.

"Wait up!" Harry tried to call, getting no response. So he trudged on, higher. On the fifth floor landing, he saw that Luna had gotten off the staircase, heading down one of the corridors. He followed after her, but he lost part of the advantage he had on the staircase. He still gained on her, though.

Harry doubted he could get Luna to stop, she seemed insistent on losing him. She was probably heading back to her common room, intent on finding some place to escape. Harry felt a pang of guilt at chasing her, but that passed when an idea struck him.

"I just want to… you sell those charms, right?" Harry called down the corridor. He hoped Filch was no where nearby, since he had been in a positively foul mood since Halloween. Especially towards Harry.

Suddenly, Luna stopped. She dug one of the charms out from her bag; he saw the top of her Transfiguration text peeking out.

Harry quickly caught up, and as he did, Luna held the charm up. When Harry dug around in his pockets for a sickle, she just shook her head, indicating she wanted no payment. Luna placed the charm in Harry's hand, clasping it between both of hers, as she locked her gaze with his once more; she managed to sputter out, "Please…just leave me alone."

She let go, spun on her heel, and quickly walked off, hoping Harry wouldn't follow. He was too stunned to do anything of the sort.

* * *

It was the middle of December, and just as the air and weather had begun to chill, the previously frozen attitude of the students began to warm up. The attack on Colin had passed from the front of the collective mind of the student body, now falling into the background, as sad as it seemed.

Perhaps it was a side-effect of the upcoming holidays; the entire castle seemed to brighten up as December drew nearer. At least it did last year. While the atmosphere was much improved from the beginning and middle of the last month, it still was frightfully suffocating at times.

The dreadful state of Defence Against the Dark Arts was somewhat infuriating, and the Fifth and Seventh year students especially felt this. There wasn't much to be done for the time being, however. Harry had seen groups of those students gathering, determined to be able to pass their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. He was a bit curious to find out what Lockhart would do in response, the man would probably see it as a slight to his honour, then try to capitalize on it in some way. Harry wondered if rumours of a Dueling Club could be the work of Lockhart.

A week ago, the three Gryffindors had pulled off a miraculous heist for the last two ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion, which they intended to use once the term broke. Snape was understandably furious at the whole affair, especially considering how Ron and Harry had to spill a significant quantity of Swelling potion on a large part of the glass. Hermione imagined Snape suspected her, due to the more intense glares she had been given recently.

When McGonagall had gone around seeing who was staying over the break, the Golden Trio had all signed up (though, Harry would have signed up regardless). They had heard Malfoy was intending to stay at the castle, rather than go home. That made a wonderful opportunity to use the potion that was nearing its final stages.

Ever since the last incident with Luna, in the middle of November, Harry had left her alone. While it seemed obvious to him that she needed some sort of help, her reaction to his preferred assistance was very off-putting.

'_Knowing me, I'll try again once this Polyjuice business is out of the way. Probably some sort of complex or something.'_

Harry had heard a few rumours start up concerning Luna, based off the encounter after supper in November. It was the typical sort of schoolyard talk which he was beginning to notice more and more of, but still somewhat similar to the bits he had overheard when he was still at Muggle school. No matter what, it was likely that children and people didn't change all that much, whether they were magical or not.

The Great Hall was in its usual state, on 16 December. The shortening days drained most of the energy of the students, but at meal times, it was almost as lively as ever. The décor and the meals had slowly begun to shift to feeling more _seasonal_, though one would be hard-pressed to point exactly what had been shifted. As usual, the ceiling was a mass of grey, a few patches of wonderfully black, starry sky peeked out from the wisps in the otherwise heavy cloud cover.

"Excuse me," All eyes were drawn to the head table, where Lockhart was standing, "I would like to announce the commencement of the Duelling Club, of which I will be _personally_ instructing. The first meeting will be tomorrow night, at eight o'clock, following supper."

He sat down as the Great Hall buzzed with excitement with this pronouncement, satisfied at the impact he was able to make. Even though the entire formation was probably prompted by his own incompetence.

"Did you hear that, Harry?" Ron asked, though it was sort of an odd question.

"_Of course_ I heard, Ron. How could anyone not have heard that?"

"Oh, right." Ron continued, nonplussed, "So what do you say? Should be fun to go to it, eh?"

"I suppose." Harry shrugged, "What harm could there be?"

* * *

In an affair worthy of the showman Lockhart (though he was called _Professor_ Lockhart more recently), the Great Hall was rearranged. The four House tables were nowhere to be found, and in their place was an arena of sorts. This stage rose off the ground a few feet, and would most likely be wherever the activities of the club would be taking place.

As the students began to file back into the Great Hall, after they had been herded out once supper was finished, the room began to slowly fill up. While not everyone was present, it was a fair evaluation to say that the majority of the school was waiting in anticipation to see what exactly the Duelling Club was about.

"I wonder how this git's gonna embarrass himself." Ron said excitedly, staring at Lockhart.

Lockhart was currently dressed in his finest motley, and appeared to be imitating some sort of dance, while twirling and jabbing his wand around in great flourishes.

Quite a few people were most likely in attendance for the same reasons Ron was: a mix of anticipation to see what exactly the Duelling Club was about _and_ to see the fantastic exploits of Professor Lockhart.

"I wonder if Professor Flitwick will be here, he was a Duelling Champion, you know." Hermione was looking around excitedly, trying to look for the diminutive Professor in the large crowd.

"Lockhart versus Flitwick?" Harry asked, conjuring a quite imbalanced match in his mind.

Hermione looked at his disapprovingly, "While I'm certain there will be demonstrations, I highly doubt the main attraction of this event is to merely _watch_ the Professors duel. It's likely that they'll at least have students try their hand."

That didn't bode well, and Harry had the sense that if any one student was going to be called, there was an alarmingly high probability it would be him. He tilted his head back in semi-resignation, and became fixated on the ceiling once more.

It looked like a fearsome blizzard was brewing, which would certainly cancel their Herbology lesson tomorrow if it didn't relent during the night.

"Hello, students!" This time, Lockhart had cast the _Sonorous_ charm on himself, in order to speak over the din of conversation, "It looks like we've just about got everyone here now. It's a shame that it probably not everyone is here, I certainly wouldn't want to miss something like this!"

He flashed his characteristic grin, and by the sound of it, the crowd of Hogwarts hadn't entirely been disillusioned to the heroic notion they held of him. Even though he was providing subpar instruction, they probably accounted it to "differing teaching methods" or some rot.

"As you all know," he settled into a more professional stance, beginning, "Duelling has been an established practice in the Wizarding World dating back to at least the time of the Founders. There is a similar tradition in the Muggle world, including something they call 'trial by combat', which the innocence or guilt of a person is determined by their martial might." At semi-horrified looks, Lockhart chuckled and waved his hands dismissively, "Even the Muggles have realised the barbarity of that practice. Unfortunately, the formal duel for honour has also fallen out of practice in their world. A shame, really."

"The conventions, procedures, and conditions for duelling have been laid down in the _Code Duello_, a constantly updated tome that is essential for any established duellist. To demonstrate, I have my assistant here, Professor Snape." Lockhart motioned to his back and right, and Snape stepped into view, with his typical scowl plastered across his face.

"Now, Professor Snape and I will square off against one another," Lockhart said as they manoeuvred into position. "With both arms, including the wand arm, at our sides we bow," Both of them did so, and then quickly righted themselves. "Then, arms still in position, the officiator counts down with the duel typically commencing at the count of three. Since there is no one of the sort here, I will fill in that capacity."

"Right then..." Lockhart steadied himself, "One... Two... _Three!_"

In a flash, both Snape and Lockhart's wand arms rose to attention, but Snape was faster, finishing his spell as Lockhart got his wand aimed and ready.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Snape cried, the crimson bolt hitting Lockhart, and his wand sailing in an arc, after which it landed in Snape's outstretched hand.

"W...Well yes, very good, Professor. That was a prime example of the _Disarmament _spell, key in your repertoire when you aren't aiming to maim or kill your opponent, an excellent spell for duelling! Now, if I could please get my wand back..."

Snape looked like he wanted to snap Lockhart's wand, rather than hand it back, but as Lockhart approached, he held it out, and it was returned to its owner.

"Now, to let you lot get a bit of practice in!" Lockhart was back in stride, not having to demonstrate anymore. "I'll be going around pairing you all up to square off against each other. Professor Snape, if you could help me?"

Snape eagerly seized this opportunity, probably seeing it as a venue to torment Harry.

Lockhart went in one direction, pairing off the assembled students, while Snape made a beeline towards the Golden Trio.

"Weasley, you'll be paired against Finnegan," he said as he finally arrived, "Potter..."

He looked around, trying to find a suitable target, and shook his head when he saw Harry move towards Hermione, indicating he was intending to be paired with her.

"How about a workout? Draco, let's see how you and Potter fair against each other." Snape said it with such a cocky sneer that it disgusted Harry.

To Malfoy's credit, he didn't outright taunt Harry, he just smirked.

"I think we've paired up you all now, to your positions!" Lockhart waited a while as the students got on the stage and shuffled around, facing off against each other like they had seen Snape and Lockhart do.

"Wands drawn! When I count to three, cast your _Disarmament _spells. Nothing else!" He looked around to make sure they all got the impression, "One... two... _three!_"

Bolts of red light flashed from all corners of the stage, and wands sailed through the air. And in one pair, a boy stumbled back.

Malfoy had started early, though Harry probably should have expected similar. And as evidenced by his wand still in his hand, he definitely didn't use _Expelliarmus_. Recovering quickly from the drubbing he felt he received, Harry cast back, "_Rictumsempra!"_

The silver jet of light shot forth, now in the air devoid of spells or wands, and hit Malfoy as he began to double over, laughing.

Lockhart quickly caught attention of this, and cried out impotently, "I said to only disarm! Stop this!"

"_Tarantallegra!_" Malfoy obviously had no illusions or intentions to stop the duel there, wanting some measure of payback for the Tickling charm that was cast on him.

It was a sight, Malfoy barely able to stop himself from falling over laughing, and now Harry dancing wildly as a result of his opponent's last spell.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" Snape ended the farce of a duel, taking control where Lockhart exerted none.

Even though everyone else had only exchanged one set of spells, it was still chaos. Looking around quickly, Harry saw Ron's opponent doubled over, probably from the after effects of Ron's broken wand. He rushed over to the other situation, involving Hermione.

Somehow, the duel between Bulstrode and Hermione had devolved into a wrestling match of some sorts, and Harry struggled to get the Slytherin off his friend, to prevent Hermione's unfortunate end via strangulation. Eventually, he succeeded, but not without a great deal of effort. Millicent Bulstrode was likely heavier and bigger than Harry was.

"That certainly could have gone better," Lockhart looked worriedly over the few students which hadn't had their duels follow the _standard_ format. "It might be worthwhile to show the students how to block spells. What's the use of casting if you just get hit by your opponent?"

"Maybe you could try dodging..." Ron whispered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I think a demonstration would be most useful for the students." Snape announced, a smirk once more plastered across his face.

"Most wise, Professor Snape." Lockhart was eager to latch himself onto a sound idea. "How about, Mr. Corner and..."

"I would be most _entertained_ with a different match," Snape interrupted, not intending his plan to get derailed. "Potter, Malfoy. I believe you two would be most spirited demonstrators."

The rest of the students cleared off the stage, as Ron shot his friend an apologetic look. Harry was used to it.

"Now, to shield yourselves from hexes and charms, simply do this," Lockhart attempted to demonstrate, twirling his wand. But in what looked like a convulsion, he jolted and jittered out of his hand, landing on the floor, "A bit of overexcitement, I'm afraid."

Snickers rose up through the crowd, and Snape leaned towards Malfoy, whispering something into his ear.

"All right then, on the count of three, as usual." Lockhart seemed to enjoy being an officiator greatly.

"Excuse me, Professor, exactly what did you do...?" Harry tried to ask, but he was promptly ignored.

"One... two... _three!_"

The wands came up, or at least Malfoy's did. Harry hesitated, unsure what exactly he was supposed to be doing.

"_Serpensortia!_" Malfoy shouted, knowing exactly what he was doing. The end of his wand expanded as a writhing mass began to extrude itself from the tip, falling onto the floor and taking the shape of a large, black snake.

"Stay still, Potter." Snape's words would have be reassuring, if they had not come from Snape. "I'll get rid of this."

He took his time, enjoying the sight of seeing the snake rise up and stare directly at Harry.

Lockhart had other plans. "I'll handle this!" he jumped into action, and with a loud bang, he lifted the snake high into the air. It soon landed, and very irritated, it went after Justin Finch-Fletchley. Probably not the exact thing Lockhart had intended to do.

"_Leave him alone__!"_ Harry shouted at the snake. It was more of a natural reaction than anything else, the sort where Harry had seen a glimpse of a sitcom, when one of the characters yelled at the telly when a goal was scored in football. He didn't expect it to do anything at all.

But it did. Immediately, the snake halted, and was frozen, still ready to strike at Justin. The rest of the people gathered in the Great Hall were also frozen, staring at Harry.

The snake relaxed, and lowered itself, coiling up into a position that clearly stated that it was not to be disturbed, but also one that indicated it was not a significant threat to anyone anymore.

As Justin turned and bolted from the Great Hall, Snape stepped forward, finally and easily vanishing the summoned serpent.

Everyone's eyes were still fixated on Harry.

It was probably a good assumption that the first meeting of the Duelling Club had ended.

Ron had made his way onto the stage, and tugged on Harry's robe sleeve, pulling him out of his stupor. "Come on, let's go."

The three Gryffindors quickly departed from the Great Hall, heading immediately towards Gryffindor Tower. They reached it before any of the people who were down at the Duelling Club were there and it was fairly empty as a result.

"I can't believe you're a _Parselmouth_. Why didn't you ever say you were?" The tone of Ron's voice has halfway between excited, and worried. It was unsettling, especially with the feel of the looks Harry had gotten in the Great Hall.

"A Parselmouth, what does that even mean? That I can speak to snakes?" Upon seeing a nod in confirmation from Hermione, Harry continued, "That's... I guess that's the second time I've done that, then."

"You've done it before?" Ron was nearly hysterical at this point.

"Well, yes. Once at a zoo with my cousin, I accidentally set a boa constrictor on him," Harry was met with a grin from Ron, and a somewhat horrified look from Hermione, "I didn't mean to, of course. The snake said he wanted to go to Brazil. This was all before I found out I was a wizard, I guess the incident just slipped my mind. Why does it really matter? I bet loads of people here can do it."

Harry knew that probably wasn't true, if the stares and the attitude of his two friends were any indication.

"Harry, this is _bad_. Very bad. Almost no one is a Parselmouth," Ron began.

"There actually hasn't been a reported speaker of the Parseltongue for the last five hundred years, at least any confirmed one." Hermione added.

"_Confirmed_." Ron highlighted. "Do you know who else was a Parselmouth?" Ron saw Harry's look of confusion, and continued, "_Salazar Slytherin_." He said it in such a scandalous tone.

"So? I just told it to not attack Justin." Harry really didn't see the problem here.

"Is that what you said? All everyone else heard was," Ron paused for a moment before he made an imitation of a snake, "_SSSssSsss"_

If it sounded like that, Harry knew it was bad, "Really?"

"Really, Harry." Hermione was obviously concerned at the implications of this, "People are going to think you're descended from Slytherin. That you're the _Heir of Slytherin_."

The magnitude of the words struck Harry, and he remembered the ethereal paint on the corridor wall, while Mrs. Norris dangled limply from the torch bracket.

"But I'm not!" Harry shouted in protest. By now, the common room had begun to fill with people coming back from the Great Hall. They gave Harry such an awful look.

"You could be descended from him, for all you know. He did live a thousand years ago." Hermione thought it wise to add more, "That you can't really work on. That doesn't really matter, people will think you've opened the Chamber. And how are they supposed to know you haven't?"

As damaging as it was, Harry had to admit he looked pretty suspicious.

They stayed up late that night. The blizzard was still raging outside, which made the likelihood of Herbology class convening unlikely.

"The only good thing from all this is," Hermione held up a small hair, "_this._"

"Whazzat?" Ron was playing a game of Wizarding Chess with Harry, as Hermione was occupied with some extracurricular tome.

"It's a hair." Upon receiving a stare from Ron, she continued, "But it's not mine. I found it on my clothes, I guess it's Bulstrode's. With this, I can put it in the Polyjuice Potion. I'm not sure there's quite enough to activate it, though..."

She held it up in the light from the dying fire below the mantle, it was a rather small hair.

"Hold on a sec," Harry began to comb over the front of his own robes, "Here."

He also held out a hair, much longer.

"Oh, that's excellent Harry!" Hermione took the hair from Harry, and examined it, "But... these two don't seem very similar." She held the two side by side. It was fairly clear they came from a different person.

"Odd, that. I wonder whose is whose?"

"Doesn't Bulstrode have a cat?" Ron commented, moving his bishop, barely focusing on the board.

"She does!" An uncertain look spread across Hermione's face, "But if one of these is a cat's hair... The Polyjuice Potion is only intended for _human to human_ transformations, I don't even know what would happen if you tried to turn into a cat with it."

"Probably a bit like splinching yourself with a potion, I'd imagine." Ron quipped.

"I'd rather _not_ experience that, thank you." Hermione said with a sense of finality, dropping both of the hairs onto the ground, no longer interested now that their origin was uncertain.

* * *

Herbology was, in fact, cancelled: the blizzard had made a trek towards the greenhouses uncomfortable, and most importantly, Professor Sprout was insulating the mandrakes with scarves and other garments, insuring they didn't die. Now that a Colin Creevey and Mrs. Norris were petrified, it was imperative that they remain in the best of health so that the restorative draught could be prepared.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron sat in the common room once more, having little to do since the term was coming to an end. Harry was obviously nervous, especially in the face of how he probably sounded, especially to Justin.

"If you're so concerned, go look for him yourself." Hermione said wisely, she couldn't stand Harry looking so uncertain. It was far too unnerving.

Harry left the common room to do just that.

The sun had already risen, but the intense snows were blanketing the castle causing the entire area to be covered in an aura of murk and gloom, if only adding to the already uncertain state in the wake of the attacks.

Harry wandered somewhat aimlessly through the corridors passing a few students as he went, each of them giving him a particular look before they scurried off seemingly frightened.

He was headed towards the library when he heard some voices, which he recognised as belonging to some Hufflepuffs who were normally in his Herbology class.

They were apparently discussing Harry being the Heir of Slytherin. He couldn't stand it much more.

He cleared his throat, stepping into the library. "Hullo. Do any of you know where Justin Finch-Fletchley is? I can't seem to find him..."

The assembled Hufflepuffs grimaced, since they had just been talking about Harry and his probably hunt for Justin.

"Why do you want to find him?" Ernie MacMillan finally got a bit of courage gathered to ask.

"I just wanted to explain what happened at the Duelling Club last night." Harry was somewhat exasperated. It was all very clear to him, he hated this confusion.

"I think he knows what happened. I think we all know." Ernie looked towards Hannah Abbott and another Hufflepuff. They nodded, somewhat unsure.

"Do you really? That's a relief. You saw how after I spoke to the snake, it backed off." Harry really hoped they would agree. He knew they wouldn't. But he really hoped they would.

"We all saw you talk to the snake, and it chase Justin out of the Great Hall." The tone of Ernie's voice clearly stated his mind was not going to be changed.

"It didn't touch him! Let alone strike him. And Justin ran after they snake had backed down, _after_ I spoke with it." Harry only felt like he was digging himself deeper, but he really had to try.

"For your information," Ernie switched subjects, "My blood is as pure as any others', if you look back, through nine generations, you'll clearly see my whole family is full of witches and wizards."

"I don't care about that!" Harry practically shouted, earning an intense glare from Madame Pince.

Practically infuriated, Harry swiftly made his way out of the library.

He walked around for a bit, rather, steamed forward, until he came towards an unbreakable wall of sorts. He fell, and was offered a large hand up.

"Sorry, Harry. Didn't see yeh ther'." Hagrid apologised. His heavy coat was covered in snow from the blizzard raging outside.

"No, it was my fault, I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Don't yeh have class today?"

"Herbology was cancelled, but I have Transfiguration later. How have you been, Hagrid?" It had been a while since Harry had spoken with the half-giant, he'd been caught up in too many things.

"Righ' as can be." Hagrid's shoulders slumped in a giant shrug, and he held up a rooster, "This is the second one now, I figure I'll ask Dumbledore if'n I can set a trap or charm 'round the coop. Probably them foxes or sumthin'."

The vibrations from the bells within the Clock Tower rocked the school, making Harry acutely aware of the time.

"Sorry Hagrid, I have to go. Transfiguration in a bit, and I have to pick up my text." Harry walked off.

"Stay warm, Harry!" Hagrid called down the passageway.

It was somewhat troublesome that the entrance to Gryffindor tower was on the seventh floor of the school.

'_Though I suppose it's better than being down in the dungeons, like Slytherin...'_ Harry mused as he climbed another flight of stairs.

He proceeded down one of the corridors, a particularly dark one. Probably the torches had been extinguished by a draft which was common to the castle. Harry didn't give it much thought until something caught his foot.

Looking down, he was staring into the face of a probably petrified Justin Finch-Fletchley. As if that wasn't disturbing enough, Nearly-Headless Nick was also there floating, apparently petrified himself.

* * *

The undercurrents present in the school had practically exploded when the third attack took place. Harry had been taken to Dumbledore's office by McGonagall immediately following his discovery, and while he didn't tell the Headmaster about the voices he had heard, Harry was fairly certain the staff didn't suspect him. Besides Filch.

It was as much certain that Dumbledore believed Harry when he said he had nothing to do with the events. The entire experience had been very comforting, overall. Even though Harry nearly panicked in the beginning with Dumbledore's familiar, a phoenix, burst into flames. Harry later found out about the rebirthing procedure of phoenixes.

The student body was another matter entirely. That night at supper, Dumbledore had made an announcement of the attack, even though it was common enough knowledge by now. The lack of any pronouncement beyond that, or any real note of investigation, did not do much to quell the rumour mill from operating within the castle.

The students were pretty much operating that organ at full tilt now. Classes had finished for the remainder of the calendar year, though they were stuck in the castle over the weekend before the term officially ended.

Things had gotten much worse for Harry. The previously barely constrained looks he got, after he was revealed to be a Parselmouth, were looks full of rancour now. It was very uncomfortable at times, and Harry very much preferred to stay within the common room when he could, content to just ignore everyone else. Unfortunately, the hatred seemed to spread to all those he was seen to be somewhat friendly with, as far as Harry could tell. Ron and Hermione were probably pegged as being co-conspirators in everyone else's minds.

The only times which the three of them generally came out was for meals. In all, it wasn't that much different than last year, the poor weather made it impractical to go outside. Even though it was the same, it felt a lot more constricting.

It was already 20 December: tomorrow, Monday, would be the day the Hogwarts Express carried back the majority of the school, finally leaving the Golden Trio in peace. And Malfoy. It would be the prime time to enact their plan with the Polyjuice Potion.

It was on this Sunday evening at suppertime that Harry was genuinely surprised once more.

Since the Duelling Club on Thursday, the three Gryffindors had taken the habit of coming down to all meals after they had already started, in order to avoid some of the hassle they found they encountered at dinner on Friday, after Justin had been attacked.

They were, thus, somewhat surprised when they saw an unfamiliar figure seated at the Gryffindor table, one who was out of place, but didn't seem to notice her own oddity.

"What's _she_ doing here?" Ron asked, as they entered the Great Hall.

"Dunno." There wasn't much else for Harry to say.

"Oh, I'm sure she's just talking with your sister, Ron. Look." Hermione pointed out that, in fact, Ginny and Luna seemed to be making conversation.

As Harry looked, it was somewhat startling how sick Ginny looked, though. Harry figured she was suffering from a bad case of influenza, or something. Harry remembered that she had a pale look throughout the majority of the term.

The staff had apparently begun decking the Great Hall in Christmas colours, and their work appeared to be mostly finished.

"When'd this happen?" Ron asked his sister, taking a seat at the end of the table, diagonally from Ginny. He began to work on piling up the food onto his plate, eager to satisfy his hunger.

"A few of the teachers were working on it after lunch." Ginny watched somewhat nervously as Harry and Hermione sat down, on the same side of the table she and Luna were seated.

"I really wish they would have done it earlier, though." Hermione said, turning to Neville who was on Ron's left hand side, "You're going home?"

"Y-Yes..." Neville barely stuttered out, surprised to be included in conversation. "Normally I do, to spend the Hols with my Gran, and I'm definitely going home with all the business that's going about."

That airy voice rang out from Harry's right hand side. "It's not all that bad," Luna got confused stares in response. "It was much worse the last time this happened. Perhaps the decorations are the Headmaster's way of combating it."

"Decorations?" Ron looked at Luna like she was entirely off topic.

"Yes," Luna answered serenely, "Headmaster Dumbledore might have thought the mistletoe would protect us. It attracts the Nargles, you know. Frightful things, very tricky."

No one really had much to say to that.

"Professor Sprout said the Mandrakes should be ready for the draught by the end of the school year," Neville broke the silence. It was well known that he'd taken to spending a little extra time in the greenhouses recently. "That's an awfully long time, though."

It was somewhat distressing to think of things that way. The students that had been attacked were essentially frozen in time. Everything from the time they were petrified, up until when they were given the cure, was practically fiction to them. A past they had lived through, but did not remember. One they still felt the effects of.

"At least they'll be alright, though." Harry didn't know what else to say, it was a pretty glum state of affairs.

"I wonder what could have petrified a _ghost_ of all things?" Hermione wondered aloud. That was probably the most unsettling part to the entire story.

"Magic." Luna answered in a tone like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Hermione looked like she had been struck. "Well, _of course_ it's magic."

"Why'd you ask, then?" Luna seemed to be rather confused why someone would ask something they already knew the answer to. "It certainly didn't sound like a rhetorical question."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but gave up, frustrated.

Harry could only lightly laugh at the sight. Hearing it, Hermione glared at him, half-menacingly.

By this time, it was easy to see the other students had made the effort to evacuate the space near Harry, leaving a rather noticeable empty space at the Gryffindor table.

"So these... Nargles, you think they'll fight whatever's in the Chamber?" Ron asked, in the middle of finishing his meal. For some reason, he had decided to take Luna at least semi-seriously.

"Oh, yes." She drew her hand to the necklace, made of what looked like bottle caps, "I've always held a respect for them, Butterbeer caps help to ward them off. But I suppose the Headmaster has most likely installed charms to protect the students from them."

"What do they _do_?" Harry was quite confused, the way Luna spoke about them, they certainly seemed real, but the whole notion was probably very fantastical and purely nonsense.

"They're tricky little things," Luna seemed to open up a bit, having at least a semi-pliable crowd to speak to, "They're tremendous tricksters, the perfect sort to employ against any sort of hidden monster. They won't outright fight whatever it is, the Headmaster is likely just trying to get them to find out _what_ the monster is."

"So they're like a poltergeist?" It was somewhat unbelievable, but even Hermione at least seemed to be playing along.

"Of a kind. You'll never know it was them, though. They like to stay hidden. And once they find a target, they'll get it in all sorts of circumstances. Embarrassing, frightening, illegal ones."

It sounded a bit too odd to be true.

"It sounds like Harry might actually have an infestation." Luna stood up, taking off her butterbeer cap necklace.

"No, I'm fine really—"

Luna stopped his protest cold. "It's alright. I'll make another for myself over the Hols, you need it more than I do."

Pleadingly, Harry looked at Ron, who only grinned back at the situation his friend had somehow found himself in.

It was a fairly comical moment for all those watching, looking as Harry squirmed. His lack of comfort with any sort of physical closeness was apparent, considering the state at which he had come from Dursleys. As Luna leaned over Harry's back, in order to put the odd necklace on him, he noticed something, but didn't say anything of it for now. He probably knew what it meant, anyway.

"Er, thank you."

"It is no trouble." Luna went back to her meal, taking small bites.

"You said these were... butterbeer caps?" Harry held the necklace a bit away from his chest, in order to look exactly what they were. He got a nod in response from Luna. "What's that?"

"You've never had butterbeer?" Ron was apparently very shocked. "Oh, of course not. You've just passed through Hogsmeade a few times, other than that... Well, the Leaky Cauldron serves it, too. It's a bit hard to describe, dunno anything like it. Probably should try it the next time you go to Diagon Alley."

From the scent on the caps, Harry could tell it was somewhat similar to butterscotch. He remembered when his cousin had some a few years back. Of course, Harry didn't get any.

Students began to trickle out of the Great Hall, most had finished with their meals a while ago. Having joined late, it took Harry, Ron, and Hermione a bit longer to eat their portions.

"Excuse me, Luna?" Harry was unsure of where to go from here. He was probably going to sound somewhat absurd to his friends. It didn't really matter. "Could I speak with you a moment? Somewhere private."

He saw the odd looks Hermione and Ron were giving him, he tried to motion for them to go back up to the common room without him. They seemed to understand, though they'd probably want some sort of explanation later, if only to satisfy curiosity.

They stopped outside one of the doors of a ground floor classroom, one that Harry could never remember having been used.

Luna and Harry stood there in silence for a few moments before he could determine how exactly to start what he was going to say. He decided to be blunt.

"I saw your wrist," Harry saw Luna's face change at once. "I figured something like that was happening with your classmates."

"And?" Luna didn't really know what to say beyond that. That didn't stop that one word from feeling far too bare, too searching.

"I sorta went through something similar..." Harry reluctantly decided to talk about his past. "Before Hogwarts found me, I experienced a lot of that sort, in a non-magical school. I thought before something like that was happening with you, but you apparently didn't want help."

"No, I didn't." The corridor was dark, and curfew was quickly approaching. "It wasn't necessary. They usually go away, you know."

"Some of them do, yes. I didn't have that fortune; my cousin constantly dogged me along with a group of his friends." Harry felt somewhat relieved that he might be able to help someone else, even if he had to air his history.

"They did go away, actually. Until you revealed you were a Parselmouth." Luna's voice had the barest amount of resentment in it. "Then, they remembered seeing me and you that one time. Just that one time. I guess they needed something to take their frustrations out." Seeing a look of anger flash across Harry's face, she clarified.

"It wasn't much. Just the usual taunts. I hurt my hand," she held up the offending wrist, her left, "When I tried to catch myself after a fall. Schoolchildren are pretty uninventive in their torments."

It felt somewhat surreal; the dying moon cast a little light down the passageway. The otherwise omnipresent torches were extinguished; both the light and the warmth they provided were gone.

Oddly enough, even on this cold, dark night, the most telling sign of the absence of torches wasn't either of those. It was the lack of the sound, the constant crackling they provided. Without it, all the words Luna and Harry spoke in the corridor reverberated too much. Every shifting of fabric, the subtle movement of robes and cloaks which kept the chill out, was evident. The faint roar from the Entrance Hall had vanished some time ago, all the other students most likely have gone to their common rooms or dormitories already. There wasn't much else to do in Hogwarts at this time on a winter night.

The silence stayed for a while, Harry couldn't find any words until the time slipped by a little more.

"So what now? You're just going to try to ignore everything again?" That was Luna's plan as far as Harry could tell from the resigned way she spoke.

Saying it like that, with that sense of a blasé attitude, was somewhat infuriating.

"I really don't know. I was curious to see exactly who you were: who the person who caused this renewal was. You're isolated from everyone but a few people." She made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know that. You couldn't possibly have intended it. But that's the way it is, and the way life will have to continue." Luna was able to say that clearly enough, without any trace of malice or deception. "What happens now is up to chance. It should relent soon enough, though."

It was somewhat sad state of affairs, that she seemed so passive towards the whole situation. It would be comical, if it weren't so serious.

"I have one question," Harry was honestly curious, "That... _'Loony', _what will happen to that, to her?"

"Oh this," Luna waved her hand over her face, in an exaggerated transformation, like she was donning a mask, "Even if it weren't so useful, it's too fun acting a bit touched to give it up."

She began walking back towards the Entrance Hall, probably heading towards the Ravenclaw Tower. Luna giggled a little, probably more to herself than anyone.

"Besides, who says that isn't the real me?"

Even though the way to the Gryffindor Tower was the same way, down that same corridor, and up those same stairs, Harry couldn't bear to follow.


	3. Books of Men

The break ended quickly, and it turned out the main venture of this time period ended with very little benefit.

The Polyjuice Potion was finished on Christmas Day, and Hermione delivered her plan. This went off without a hitch, due to the gluttony of Malfoy's lackeys. Unfortunately, since the veracity of the hair Hermione had procured was not viable, and there was no other suitable subject, she was unable to participate in the ruse.

During this escapade, Harry and Ron learned only one significant fact: that it was fifty years since the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Which ruled out the previous hypothesis of the Golden Trio: that Lucius Malfoy had opened the Chamber when he was at Hogwarts, and that his son was opening it as well.

In truth, only the first half of that hypothesis had solid evidence against it. The second half was mostly disproven, however, as Malfoy revealed nothing in regards to the possible identity of the perpetrator. And since Harry and Ron detected no measure of suspicion against their disguises (even though they had to make a hasty departure as they began to wear), there was currently no leading suspect assuming responsibility.

This of course meant that nearly everyone was suspect once more.

"This is _impossible_!" Hermione shrieked, frustrated.

"Maybe we should just forget about things, y'know. The teachers will probably be able to sort all this out." Ron really didn't want any extra measure of work, especially since classes were beginning to ramp up again now that the new term had started.

Yet they were still spending their time in a secluded section of the library, going over every last bit of information they could. And doing homework. It was mainly Hermione combing through the records, while Ron and Harry attempted to trudge through the multiple essays and other tasks they were assigned for their classes.

"I don't really care about what others people think, well, I actually do a little. I'd be fine to leave this all as it is, but…" Harry trailed off, somewhat unsure. "Last time the Chamber was opened, someone died, right? We can't let that happen again."

The tone of his voice really left no room for a change in conviction, at least from Harry himself. It seemed to galvanise Ron's commitment, if not the conviction of all four seated at the table.

"I say that, but we really don't have anything to go off right now." He reached down, pulling out his Charms and Transfigurations texts, as a squat book caught between them flopped onto the table.

"What's this?" Luna unabashedly picked up the small, black tome. She held it in the air for a bit, looking down its spine, looking at the grain of the leather, but not opening it. Then she placed it back on the table.

Since the term had resumed almost two weeks ago, Luna had been hanging around the somewhat outcast group. Attitudes from a majority of the student body was still heavily set against Harry, considering all the things that were pointed towards him being the Heir of Slytherin. Of course, he had to admit that he would probably have implicated himself as well.

By proxy, the group of friends Harry associated with was also being alienated, though to a much lesser degree. Neville and Ginny, who were only around Harry for mealtimes got minimal flak. Even though Neville was present in all of Harry's classes, he was largely ignored, outside of the usual manner. Mostly coming from Snape, which no one could really do anything about, and from Malfoy and his group, and they always received some form of retaliation.

They weren't any more distanced than they usually were, anyways.

Since the beginning of the term, or at least a little while after it resumed, Ginny's persistent sickness seemed to lift somewhat. Everyone had advised her in the past to go to the Hospital Wing, and on a few occasions, even dragged her there, but it never did any sort of good. Whatever had occurred, Harry was pleased one of his friends wasn't sick anymore.

Ron and Hermione, along with Harry himself, caught the majority of the stony attitude of the students. After a few days, it had devolved into nothing more than stares, or just a perpetual distance. If any one of the three Gryffindors ever got too close for comfort, like handing off a potion supply in Snape's class, they got mixed reactions of fear or indifference. Especially Harry.

"Oh, that. I found it in Myrtle's bathroom the day after the term resumed. Doesn't have any words in it, though." Harry neglected to mention why he took time to visit the girls' bathroom alone.

Ron reached over from the other side of the oval table; grabbing the book from the place Luna had dropped it. He flipped through the pages quickly, double-checking what Harry had said. "You're right! It's totally blank."

"What, did you think I'd miss something like that? Of course it is." Harry paused when he thought of something, "Oh, actually, there is something written on it. Just a name and a place of production."

Ron went to the front, where even he knew he'd find that information, "T.M. Riddle… Vauxhall Road? Where's that?"

"It's in London, a Muggle place."

Ron looked at Luna oddly, not expecting her to have answered, nor to know anything about anything of the Muggle sort. He remembered she lived somewhere near the Burrow, quite a distance from London.

Ron was still unsure what opinion to take of Luna. He had always referred and known her to be a bit loopy, and she certainly was at times. Then, of course, there were moments of clarity that seemed to strike that image oddly.

He had teased Harry a bit after his friend had gotten back from taking Luna aside, on the night before the first term ended. Hermione took a much kinder approach, but was still wary of the blonde at times. Probably because the two girls' natures seemed to be in such stark contrast to one another.

"Yeah, I assume this Riddle was a Muggleborn or something. No other reason he would have bought a diary from a Muggle shop." Harry was going down the line of reasoning he had already explored, to little effect.

"Riddle… I think I remember his name from _somewhere_…" Ron's eyes glassed over as he furrowed his brow deeply in concentration, "Oh, yeah. He's the bloke on the plaque Filch made me keep polishing. Can't believe I forgot his name, musta scrubbed the thing fifty times."

Meanwhile, upon hearing he had an award; Hermione began to flip through her copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. She had gotten a few of the Hogwarts owls to pick it up from her parents. The only reason she hadn't done it earlier was fear of impeding someone else's method of communication.

"Ah! Here he is," she rotated the large book so everyone at the table could see. "Attended Hogwarts from 1938 to 1945. Slytherin, Prefect, and even Head Boy."

"Oh, he's that sort." Ron had an unpleasant reminder of Percy conjured into his mind.

"When was the Chamber opened last?" Harry remembered Hermione had prattled off the date, but he didn't recall it precisely.

"Let me see…" She flipped back from the back of the book, probably from one of the indices. "It doesn't say _exactly_ when, but it was the 1942-1943 school year. And… oh! I don't remember this being here before, 'See pg. 2122 for list of fatalities'."

The frantic turning of pages was much quicker now, as Hermione slid great sections of the book over, getting to the approximate range of pages, then hurriedly finding the correct one.

"'Student and Faculty fatalities: 1612-Present'… Oh," Hermione had the look of realisation dawn upon her. "'June 1943: Myrtle Harrison.'"

Hermione didn't add anything, hoping it would strike someone else at the table.

"_That_ Myrtle?" Harry stopped working on his Charms essay, taking the diary back and opening it, staring at one of its blank pages. He wondered what they'd be able to find out if Riddle had just written _something_ down, anything besides his ruddy name.

"No harm asking, she's probably there. Always on call." Ron began to tidy his things up, eager to put away his work for the night. It was already getting late; the library would be closing in just over half an hour.

Surprisingly, Hermione didn't protest Ron's blatant excuse to skive off his assignments, and quickly slung her books back into the bag. Harry began to also pack up, making sure the ink was dry before placing it in his bag, then began to move to clean the tip of his quill. He managed to tip over his ink well in the process of this.

"Oops." Luna said it even though it wasn't her mistake.

Harry looked in horror as the ink began to spread over the table, starting from the diary he had knocked it over on. Then he remembered.

"Oh, that's not much of a worry, sometimes I forget." He took out his wand, ready to cast _Evanesco_ when he paused, noticing something odd. "The ink... the diary... it's gone."

"Excuse me?" Hermione turned back from packing her things, already satisfied she had gotten them off the table before Harry had made the mess.

"The ink that was spilt over the diary... it's gone. And no, I haven't cast _Evanesco_ yet." He pointed down at the otherwise unordinary book, surrounding in a puddle of blank ink.

Before it spread any more, Harry removed the rest of the ink off the table before it could spread to the floor.

"What an odd little book..." Luna broke the short silence that had fallen, staring innocently at the diary, whilst the others regarded it with suspicion. They seemed to be too well trained after the previous year's events, adding to the ones they were currently embroiled in.

Silently, Harry took his now nearly empty ink well, and poured a little over the open page, just a dab.

"Oh! I should have known there was something odd about this book!" Hermione said as they all watched the small swatch of colour disappear. "I thought it was weird that the pages weren't yellowed at all in a fifty year old, Muggle diary."

"So what now?" Ron asked the question that was most prominent in his mind, and probably in Harry's as well.

"Isn't it obvious? We should immediately take this to—"

"No." Harry cut her off, knowing what she would say. "Not yet, I don't want to find out nothing about this thing."

Harry dipped his quill in the small amount of ink left, obviously preparing to write into the journal.

"This is a diary, so it's meant for people to write in it, correct? Should do something, and if it doesn't, the ink'll just disappear." He lowered the quill to just above the paper's surface before he paused. "What should I write?"

"There's no use being rude, you should greet it." Luna said it like it was the only choice possible.

Ron started to laugh, before he shut himself up, in a moment of self-restraint.

By this time, Ron and Hermione had gotten up, and inched their way behind Harry, eager to see every word he wrote down. Luna was content enough to remain in her chair, being able to glance over and see what was written.

For effect, Harry read aloud what he was writing. "Hello, how are you doing?" He enunciated each word, taking his time to write neatly.

Like before, the ink sank into the page. Then, it rose back onto the surface, but in the form of different letters and words.

_Hello. I am doing well enough. Thank you for your inquiry._

Everyone could only stare, with dumbfounded looks, even Luna. Eventually, the words sank back into the page, and more took their place.

_My name is Tom Riddle. Could you please give me your name?_

"Harry, I really don't think this is a good idea. I know you don't want to take it to a professor, but can we _please_ not write in it anymore? At least for now."

Harry looked back at Hermione, and she looked extremely concerned. The worrying tone of her voice was very unsettling, even if the book was perfectly polite.

"Alright... we'll stop writing in it, for now. I guess we'll see what other information we can dig up." He began to pack the diary away, when he noticed Luna staring at him. "What?"

"You should at least tell it your name, and say you have to go. It's been courteous enough to you to deserve that in return."

The way said it was enough to make someone stare at her in exasperation.

"My name is Harry Potter. I'm sorry, but I have things to go do." He wrote the words down as he said them, and quickly shut the book before he could see a response.

"So what now?" Ron spoke the one question on everyone's mind.

* * *

Thankfully enough for the excitations of the group, the next day was Friday, which meant that after just a day of classes, they would be able to investigate all the odds and ends that had been revealed in the library. Hopefully without drawing too much attention.

Even though it was just a single day of classes, it was still hard to go through, if only due to the excitement of being able to find out more about the Chamber. Possibly even to clear the suspicion that had been laid upon Harry.

He was thankful that his Potions courses this week had already concluded: the one class that Slytherins and Gryffindors had together, for some nearly unfathomable reason. Harry wasn't entirely sure which House he preferred now, to be quite honest. Hufflepuff was acting either very docile, but suspicious, or as hostile as Ernie MacMillan was. Gryffindor was pretty much barely-restrained wariness, only held off by the closeness Harry had to others within his House (which wasn't much, it was more due to his accomplishments and somehow seeing him more often than others that reigned them in). Slytherin was, as always, Slytherin. A few more taunts here and there, but the normal fare he would expect.

Ravenclaw was odd, and would probably be the most tolerable if it wasn't for their treatment of Luna which Harry knew about. He didn't know the extent of what they had done to her, and he only withheld some sort of retribution because of Luna's reticent nature. Harry knew if he didn't want help (though, it seemed odd that he _wouldn't_), he would be fairly miffed if someone made trouble.

"Good evening, Harry." Her wand was above her ear again. Sometimes it disappeared, maybe to more normal hiding locations. Or maybe she kept it in her sock.

"Oh, hi." Harry was too frustrated from the just dismissed DADA to be much of a conversationalist right now.

"So we're going to talk to Myrtle?" By now, everyone had taken their seats. Neville and Ginny were off somewhere else today, avoiding at least some of the social fallout.

"I'm not sure if we'll be able to get much out of her, though, Ron..." Hermione apparently had the most experience with the ghost, and as evidenced by her reaction at the Deathsday party, she wasn't too fond of the spectre.

"She's really not that bad." Luna was prodding her food with her wand, changing its colour back and forth. "You just have to know how to speak with her."

"You know how to?" Harry was unsure himself how one would speak with a ghost, apparently one as temperamental as Myrtle was. He quickly got a nod in response from Luna. "Good, can we leave that to you, then? Thanks."

After this weekend, Harry's free time would be limited, since Quidditch practices were going to start back up. That meant three nights a week, he'd be out on the pitch again. He certainly wasn't expecting to solve the problem this weekend, but he'd like at least a little progress.

The four students had gotten some odd stares on their way to Myrtle's bathroom, its proximity to the location of the first attack made sure people noticed. Especially after the Duelling Club. They tended to try to stay away from it now, if not to shake up the school too much.

"Excuse me, Myrtle?" Luna poked her head inside the bathroom, and not waiting for a reply, entered as Myrtle was coming out from her stall.

Myrtle saw the other three students follow in behind Luna. "Oh, they're all here again. Now that your potion is finished, there's no reason to visit poor Myrtle."

She sounded quite irritated that they had only abided her presence when they needed the services of the lavatory for brewing.

"Th-That's not exactly true, we've been a bit busy now that the term has resumed..." Hermione tried to stutter out a pathetic excuse.

"Be that as it may, Harry still found the time to come and see me."

Harry always got a very uncomfortable sensation when Myrtle spoke like that and looked at him that way.

"But we're here now, Myrtle." Luna displayed no sense of hesitation with the ghost, not electing to withdraw from Myrtle's attitude.

"You probably want something though, don't you?" She sounded smug.

"Who doesn't want something?" Luna twirled her wand a bit, beginning to walk over to one of the sinks and playing with the tap. "Huh... Oh, that's good. Now I want to know why this thing doesn't work."

Luna tapped her wand on the faucet a few times, imitating a spell to try to get the plumbing to work.

"Oh, that old thing." Myrtle had dropped the harsh tone of voice somewhat. "That's never worked; it certainly wasn't working when I was at Hogwarts. When I..."

The bathroom always had a spooky look, a little more so than the normal rooms of the castle. Already late at night, the sparse lights in the room flickered and threw long shadows all around. The dampness of the Scottish winter night pervaded the place like it was exposed directly to the weather.

It was in a state of disrepair, as evidenced by the inoperable sink, but there were other signs. The hanging stall door, bits of tile and mortar here and there. The porcelain of one of the sinks had cracked, a chunk falling and shattering the tile below. Even with all this, even with the age of the bathroom, it was oddly clean. It wasn't likely it was cleaned often, if ever.

"I'm surprised they haven't fixed this faucet yet... though I guess they don't need water in an out of order bathroom. How long has that sign even been up? It looks so dusty..."

Harry wondered if Luna had known about the faucet, or if it had been luck. Either way, it was serving as a great point to loop into conversation. While Myrtle would have answered the question anyways, it probably wouldn't have been nearly as informative as the one they'd get in a few minutes.

"They closed it after I died here, June 1943." Myrtle looked mournful, probably recalling the times she had been counted among the living of Hogwarts. The castle had been such a magical place, magic enough for so many ghosts, but magical in other ways for others.

Harry remembered Malfoy had said a Muggleborn was killed the last time the Chamber was opened. So Hogwarts was the symbol of a whole new world for Myrtle, just like it was for everyone who didn't grow up in the Wizarding world.

Myrtle had probably started her education around the Blitz. So it was a haven, even though the magical side of that war was entirely new. Harry guessed the castle was much the same as before, 'The greatest Wizarding School in the United Kingdom, maybe even Europe. The safest place to be.'

The place Harry had confronted Voldemort with the Stone. The place that had some monster roaming around petrifying people, maybe even killing them soon. The same monster that had probably killed Myrtle nearly fifty years ago.

If Hogwarts really was the safest place, Harry wondered how anyone lived through a single day outside of its walls.

Luna shocked Harry back into reality. "That's a while it's been out then. Maybe it's been out a hundred years? Two hundred? Who knows how long it could be with how old this place is..." She kicked a loose piece of mortar; it went skidding and made a light noise until it stopped in a puddle of murky, probably filthy, water.

Myrtle hadn't even taken her O.W.L.s, in all likelihood. She was a ghost, stuck in the form of someone very near their own age. Maybe see had died in her second year. Harry wondered what ghosts did with their free time. Would they stay the age they had died at... forever? Certainly physically, but mentally?

With how Hogwarts seemed, he really didn't want to be haunting the place as a perpetual second year student.

"A hundred years isn't so long. These past fifty have gone quickly. I can still remember the eyes; they were such a bright yellow colour. So lovely. So deadly."

It was very sobering, very sad. Harry could have sworn he heard Hermione choke back a sob. Ron wavered a bit, his opinion of Myrtle probably changing greatly. Before he'd been so annoyed with her antics. Just like Hermione's, except there was never any resolution between the redhead and the ghost.

Luna just stood there, though. Still tinkering with the faucet, working the taps on all the other sinks, and even giving a grimy mirror a shine with one of the sleeves of her robe.

Everything she did confused Harry more. His opinion of her was so much simpler when she was purely one-dimensional. When she was just some odd, odd Ravenclaw.

He didn't really hear any of the rest of the conversation. Probably a few details thrown in there, but Hermione would be sure to remember. She always paid close attention. Harry tried to, but he was far too distracted.

"Oh, the curfew's soon. I'm sorry Myrtle, but we have to leave. We can't be caught by Filch, you know."

Myrtle looked back at Luna. The ghost definitely knew that they came here for knowledge about her death. She had given it to them. She probably wouldn't see them much anymore.

They began to shuffle out of the bathroom. Harry looked at his watch; it was indeed close to curfew time.

"You should come around the Tower more. I'm sure the Grey Lady gets lonely and would like someone to talk to."

Harry turned back, and only saw the ghost glumly nod before she disappeared behind the doorframe as he walked out.

"See? She's really delightful, when you get to know her." Luna was in high spirits as they climbed the staircases. The other three could only muster a few weak words of affirmation before they reached the fifth floor landing, and Luna split off, heading back to her Tower.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed further up.

* * *

It wasn't until the morning that the library opened, and they began to go over the books again. They only knew that the monster petrified, and had yellow eyes. It wasn't much, admittedly. But it was more than they had.

Harry didn't know if the lack of an attack since the term had begun was making people more or less nervous. Logically, it might be an indication they've ceased. Emotionally, it could feel like time was running out for the inevitable.

"So what other clues do we have?" Ron had finally finished his Charms essay. The others had finished their assignments beforehand. They were each already poring through books, as directed to them by Hermione.

"One: It petrifies. Two: It has yellow eyes. Three: It has some way of moving through the castle unseen." Hermione looked at Harry, referring to the times he had heard the voice no one else had.

"Maybe it has an Invisibility Cloak?" Ron tried to smile cheekily.

"Wouldn't work, mate. Remember how the Headmaster saw through mine?" Harry quickly stopped thinking about what he had seen in the mirror the first time.

"Oh, right. Well, I have no clue. Absolutely none. Maybe we should take a break?"

They had already been in the library for a few hours, and lunch was fast approaching, so the idea seemed amenable enough.

"Oh, the studious ones have come out—" One began.

"—of the library." The other finished.

Harry was glad they didn't talk like that more often.

"It's a shame our esteemed teacher," Fred cast a glance towards Lockhart, "Isn't as industrious as you four are."

"A true shame, oh sibling mine. It's somewhat sad he never continued the Duelling Club..." The other one said. Harry got the distinct feeling this one was actually Fred.

The cancellation of the Duelling Club was probably due to a myriad of reasons. That it involved the Parselmouth incident. That another attack took place the night afterwards... and the fact that Lockhart had been embarrassed when he expected to show off.

It was probably the last reason which had stopped the vain man from trying again.

"But back to an actually interesting subject..." Harry wasn't going to bother to try anymore.

"Wood already left to something, but wanted us to relay the message that our practices would resume on Monday, at six thirty."

Harry hadn't interacted with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team since the third attack; they were all in separate years. He assumed that they would be considerably less cold than the general populace was.

Harry's mind wandered a bit, "I haven't heard anything big around the castle... are you two planning some sort of super-prank?"

They both grinned. It was very unnerving. It would be a hundred times more unnerving if Harry wasn't relatively certain that he probably wouldn't be a target. They remained silent, however.

"I understand. What fun is it without surprise?" He only said that half-sarcastically. "Please leave me out of it, whatever it is."

"Oh, certainly. We shan't trouble you, Mr. Heir." Coming from another person (or another set of people), that wouldn't have the distinctive feel that it did.

"And with that, we're off! Stay out of trouble, Harry. Leave that to us." Harry didn't even look to where they went. The Weasley twins were comical and enjoyable, in small enough doses. It was a lot harder looking into them. A lot more uncertainty. He wondered how the teachers felt, having to _try_ to keep them in line.

"Oh, boy. Sounds like they'll have Howlers soon enough." Ron had probably grown very accustomed to his elder brothers' mannerisms. Enough to have a resigned attitude towards whatever they did, or were planning to do.

"You know, we haven't seen Hagrid recently." Harry had, but it was a short encounter. The Groundskeeper was a nice grounding presence, anyways. And heading there after lunch meant they had a reasonable excuse to refuse anything he tried to feed them.

"We really should be getting back to the library..."

"Oh, come on, Hermione! We can do that tomorrow, it's still Saturday. Plenty of time to cram ourselves between shelves and read our eyes out." Ron was probably feeling the wear of being inside the library so often the most. He had changed, though. Before, even earlier this year, he wouldn't have been able to stand it this long.

"Oh, a stroll would be lovely. I haven't been able to search the grounds for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks recently. They prefer the colder climes." Luna essentially outvoted Hermione, even though the argument she presented was bizarre.

"Do you really believe in... Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, was it?" Hermione asked, unsure of her own question. Unsure of why she'd even have to ask such a question.

"I certainly do. They're really a delightful breed. Absolutely fascinating." Luna was perfectly in her element. "Of course, you probably haven't heard all that much about them have you? Don't worry, I'll dig up my old issues of _the Quibbler_, you'll find all you need to know in them."

The famous magazine. The first image everyone else probably thought of when they heard the name, 'Luna Lovegood'. Her reading that odd, odd thing... upside-down.

Harry wondered how she managed to restrain her laughter at all the odd looks she got. Then he wondered if she actually noticed all the looks she got.

He stopped thinking about that before it completed too many loops of recursivity. Harry distinctly remembered some parable concerning the differences between a fool's and a wise man's trains of thought when presented with a binary choice that clearly decided life or death.

"I... I'll have to take you up on that offer." While Hermione wasn't the most open-minded individual, when presented with at least the opportunity to read and decide, she would usually take it. Though, it was doubtful she would have accepted the offer just a month before.

Thankfully, it wasn't snowing. The weather had at least decided to be merciful recently, and their trip to Hagrid's hut was uneventful, if a bit cold.

Unerringly, Harry banged on the door of the tiny shack, and got a series of barks and a loud shout from Hagrid (which Harry couldn't quite understand what the half-giant had said).

"'Arry, good to see yeh. An' yeh've got frien's too, I see." Hagrid was as warm as he ever was, quickly inviting the four out of the cold into the crammed, but comfortable hut.

"You lot want some tea? Or cakes?"

They wisely refused the cakes, citing they had just come from lunch. They all accepted the offer of tea, if a bit unwary.

"How have you been, Hagrid?" Harry looked up from his cup.

"Oh, I'm comin' along fine, y'know. Dumbledore let me ward the coop, so yeh shouldn't see me carting around anymore dead roosters. I see yeh've got a new friend, too. I think I remember takin' her across in the li'l boats earlier this year, can' recall right."

"Hello, Hagrid. I'm Luna Lovegood, it's nice to see you again."

"Do you happen to know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?"

From his immediate reaction, it was fairly obvious that Hagrid did know something. He tensed at once, "I know what e'eryone else does, not much more."

Harry remembered this sort of behaviour during the last school year, when they had asked Hagrid about Nicholas Flamel.

"We already know that the last time the Chamber was opened, someone was expelled." Hermione watched as Hagrid fiddled with his cup. An idea struck her, when reality didn't exactly match with what she'd read. "But... if they were only expelled, it means either they were framed, or the Ministry was extremely lenient."

Even though the second explanation was a much simpler explanation, owing to the Wizarding world's prejudice against Muggleborns, it didn't really mesh with Hermione's view on authority.

"You lot should just mind yer own business, can't fail your classes due ta runnin' around tryin' to play detectives." The tone of Hagrid's voice made it fairly clear that he didn't want to discuss the Chamber anymore, at least for now.

With that avenue of conversation closed, the five only pursued small talk, and soon departed. They hadn't really learned anything, but that wasn't the point of going to see Hagrid, anyways.

"Harry, I know you don't want to... but can we please tell McGonagall... Dumbledore... _someone_ about the diary?"

No one else was out on the grounds, even though it was a cool, clear day. The slope up towards the castle was blindingly white.

"You think they'll be able to find out anything?" Harry sighed, convinced when he saw Hermione nod. "Right then. Let's spend tonight and tomorrow morning searching for more information, and then we can see about arranging a meeting at lunch."

That was apparently an acceptable compromise. They spent until eight o'clock in the library, trying to get information. Hermione once again lamented the early closing time Madame Pince had instated, but realised it was probably so no one was caught after curfew heading from the library. More than a few Ravenclaws, especially fifth and seventh year ones around the end of the year often stayed until eight.

"Aren't you nervous sleeping in the same room as the Heir?"

Harry barely heard a scrap of a conversation as the three Gryffindors entered the common room through the portal. Looking over, he could see an older student talking with Seamus Finnigan.

They stopped talking once they caught a glance at who had walked in. Seamus didn't stare, he looked sort of embarrassed. The other one, Harry thought he recognised him as Cormac McLaggen, a third year. That person just stared, knowing Harry had heard what he had said. The look he was giving the younger student was practically daring him to say something. Or hex him. To do something to prove the earlier statement.

All Harry did was stare back, before deciding it was too frustrating to continue. The rest of the night was uneventful.

* * *

"Luna..."

"Yes, Harry?" She turned back around, to face towards him.

Breakfast had finished, and they were getting up from the table to spend a few hours researching in library when Harry noticed something unusual.

It was an odd setting. Ron and Hermione had stopped as well, a small ways away from the table. Harry had barely gotten up from his seat.

"Why aren't you wearing any shoes?" He knew that some people enjoyed walking barefooted. But that was usually on warm, sunny days in a field or something. Not in the middle of winter in a cold, stone castle somewhere in Scotland.

"Oh, that." She waggled her toes. "I couldn't find any pairs of shoes, maybe the Nargles took them?"

Harry doubted very much that the Nargles were responsible, since Luna was protected from them by the new necklace she had apparently made over the break.

'_Wait... when did I start believing in Nargles?'_ His thoughts had been irreversibly corrupted now. At least he retained the good sense to question himself... for now. He could venture a guess to the real reason why she had no shoes, though.

"Have you told Flitwick about your Nargle problem?" Harry figured the Head of House would be the one to talk to in these situations.

"No, I haven't." By the way she spoke, Luna could likely tell Harry had caught on. She put a hand on his shoulder to reassure. "Please don't worry about it."

"Wait a second," They had already begun walking towards the library, as Harry stopped. And took off his shoes. "Here, use mine. Too bad we haven't learned conjuration yet..."

So the spectacle turned even odder, as Luna stepped into Harry's oversized shoes, plodding along while trying to prevent her feet from slipping out.

"Is there _anything_ else we know about Slytherin's monster that could help with the search? What we have so far isn't a lot to be going on..." Hermione sounded a bit tired, from probably combing through hundreds of books. And likely fairly frustrated, since there was a fair chance she had already stumbled upon the creature, but overlooked it due to vague information.

"I can't think of much. I wonder what type of monster it could even be. Maybe a bird... or... a spider?" Ron shivered at the mental image he had conjured up.

"Wouldn't Slytherin prefer a snake?" Luna was idly flipping through a book she had been given by Hermione.

"A snake... yes!" There was a distinctly sharp hiss, probably coming from Madame Pince to insure compliance with the standard library code of volume. Hermione lowered her voice, blushing a bit that she'd gotten so excited. "That would make sense, and the Heir of Slytherin would be the only one able to control... through being a Parselmouth."

Three sets of eyes turned towards Harry.

"Does that mean I'll have to have a battle of wills versus the Heir for control of this beast? Great." He had been writing on a scrap of paper, but was apparently done now as he folded it up and stuck it inside his clothes.

"Likely not. The Heir will have already established control over the serpent, thus you'll just be its food." Luna was unnerving at times. Very unnerving.

"Anyway... now I have something more to go off, let's see if I can't find something..." Hermione rushed off to another corner of the library, and returned after around twenty minutes with some familiar looking books.

"Here are some bestiaries and mythological compendia. Just go through each of them, and we'll each read every single entry on serpentine creatures. We'll do it thoroughly this time." Her authoritative tone was back, along with her confidence in being able to solve the mystery.

Harry had a Mesoamerican tome of mythology, included various references to actual beasts which some deities were based on. "Here's one... Quetzalcoatl... it seems to be referenced as 'Kulkukan' and 'Guqumatz' as well."

That was a miss. So were 'Awanyu', 'Coi Coi-Vilu', and 'Xiuhcoatl', among others. Many of the entries they had found were based upon old gods, and very few on actual creatures.

"'Sugaar'... what I wouldn't give for a few sweets," Ron mumbled while reading, then showed everyone else the entry he had found on the Basque proto-god. "Oh, fascinating. He supposedly seduced a Scottish princess in some town in Spain." The entry went off talking about the 'Herensuge', which seemed to have none of the powers of the monster roaming Hogwarts.

Luna was having just as much luck as Harry and Ron were, she found only one relevant entry, but it wasn't strictly a deity, which was closer to the mark. "Msi-Kinepikwa... it kills by disease..."

That wasn't it. Otherwise Hogwarts would have its halls full of corpses. And people wouldn't be petrified, including a ghost.

Hermione was reading a large grimoire, the title of which Harry could barely make out: _De Vermis Mysteriis. _"Tsathoggua... no, that's more like a toad than a snake..." Hermione was muttering to herself, "Yig... the Father of Serpents. It seems like Slytherin would go for something so regal. But I'm not sure he would be able to bind such an entity..."

She was obviously getting slightly discouraged, "This references _Liber Damnatus Damn_—no, that probably doesn't have anything worthwhile in it..." She scribbled a note on a loose piece of paper to check back on the book if other leads went nowhere. "'The cockatrice... a beast with virulent breath... sometimes referred to being able to cause...'" Her eyes widened and she stopped reading.

"What is it, Hermione?" Harry saw her pause.

"I... I think this is it. This says the cockatrice is able to kill or petrify with their eyes." She didn't elaborate any further, only showing the illustration within the book she had found.

"It looks very funny." That was all Luna said, pointing out the serpent's feathered nature, while it retained wings and legs.

"Blimey! How would that thing get around with no one seeing it?"

"I... I don't know. But this _has_ to be it."

"How are you supposed to defeat something like that?" Harry was hoping he wouldn't have to fight it at all.

"There are different ways, but I don't know which will work... One paragraph says getting it to see its own reflection will cause its death... and another says the crow of a rooster is fatal to it."

Suddenly, everything fit. "Hagrid mentioned that there's been a few roosters killed on the grounds... you don't think maybe..."

"Definitely. Now we at least have _some_ idea of what the creature is." Hermione was smug that they had finally gotten an idea, rather than being constantly defeated by the books as they had been for the past few weeks.

"Hold on... listen to this, Hermione." Harry was still wading through the Mesoamerican books. "'_The Peuchen has a gaze which paralyzes while the beast sucks the victim's blood. It is a shapeshifter, being able to take a myriad of forms.'_"

Hermione was decidedly less sure now, as she bit her lip, "That doesn't really sound like it, but something in between the two would explain how the beast was getting around."

"I'm famished. Can we _please_ head to the Great Hall? We've already found what it is..." Ron was getting hungry and impatient. Any curiosity he had was satisfied for the time until his stomach was also satisfied.

Harry looked at his watch, noting that it was around that time already. After a bit of prodding, Hermione acquiesced to leaving the den of knowledge for lunch.

The halls felt considerably warmer, knowing at least a little more about what was hunting the students of Hogwarts. That and the flopping sound of Luna in Harry's shoes.

When they entered the Great Hall, they were pleased to see that Dumbledore was there today. He wasn't always at the school, due to business with the ICW and the Wizengamot. But it was probably necessary during this uncertain time at Hogwarts.

"Headmaster, do you have time to discuss something after lunch?" Harry had approached the table where all the teachers took their meals. Naturally, at his approach, pretty much all of them turned their heads to see who was speaking. "It's fairly important, sir."

Dumbledore put down his fork, grabbing his napkin and cleaning away some of the food he felt at fallen on his beard around the edge of his mouth. He looked over the four students that were before him for a bit, possibly trying to ascertain what they were going to speak about.

"I think that I will be able to find the time, Mr. Potter. I trust you remember where my office is located?" Upon seeing Harry's nod, Dumbledore continued. "Excellent. The password for entry is the same as the time you came by with Professor McGonagall."

Harry remembered when Justin Finch-Fletchley had been petrified. _'Lemon drop...'_

The rest of lunch was eaten with anticipation for the revelations that would come later. No one noticed when Harry slipped one of the twins a small scrap of parchment, even though it wasn't strictly necessary.

'_I'm sure we'll have fun...'_ Harry wondered how Fred and George's operation worked, exactly.

* * *

It wasn't everyday that a student at Hogwarts entered a private discussion with its illustrious Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Even if that person was part of a group.

In fact, many barely heard the Headmaster speak besides at feasts, and saw him just as often. His high-backed chair in the Great Hall was often empty, and even if it wasn't, he was an imposing yet aloof figure. Possibly crazy, as well.

"Might I offer you all a lemon drop?" His hand was pointed towards a tin filled with some sort of confectionary.

He sat in his chair, having motioned for the three Gryffindors and the Ravenclaw to take a seat.

"Why, thank you." Luna bravely reached out, taking one of the lemon drops and popping it into her mouth.

Dumbledore chuckled. Harry bet that not many people accepted the Headmaster's offer of sweets.

"Now, Harry, what is concerning you and your friends?"

"Sir, we've been looking into the Chamber of Secrets, and we've found—"

"I would hope that you and your friends haven't been getting into _too_ much trouble, have you?" His eyes twinkled. Harry wondered if the Headmaster knew about the Polyjuice incident. He didn't understand _how_ the older man would know, but he really felt as if he knew.

"Not too much trouble, no sir. But, we have found out some things we think you might not know..." It sounded pretty arrogant as Harry spoke the words, something that Dumbledore didn't know.

"Oh? Please inform me, if you would. I would be remiss if I did not address all the avenues in front of me."

Hermione took charge now. "Headmaster, we found out who was killed the last time the Chamber was opened." Dumbledore's face fell, likely hoping that knowledge didn't become too common. "And we spoke with the person in question."

"Oh, yes. The students call her 'Moaning Myrtle', am I correct?"

"You are, sir. From her, we found out that the creature probably killed through its gaze."

"And that it was probably a snake, since it's Slytherin's beast, y'know." Ron wanted to share in the glory a bit.

"Thank you, Ronald. Yes, we postulated it had a serpentine nature. So we combed through bestiaries and mythological compendia and found two candidates... but neither fit exactly." Dumbledore was nodding sagely, genuinely interested. Hermione felt a welling up a pride. "The cockatrice: which kills with its gaze, but it seems to be a feathered serpent with bipedal locomotion. We can't figure out how it would get around the castle."

"And the _Peuchen_, though this one isn't likely." Harry contributed with the monster he had found. "It's a Mesoamerican serpent, which has a paralysing gaze it uses to suck the blood from its victims. But it also is a shapeshifter, so that would explain how it gets around."

There was a long pause that filled the Headmaster's office. Fawkes was on his perch, silent. Only a faint tinkering from some machinery behind Dumbledore's desk pervaded the air.

"So you four have found two creatures, each with one half of the monster's modus operandi." He received nods from three of them, while Luna just ducked and grabbed the diary out of Harry's bag.

"And this very polite book."

"A... polite book?"

It wasn't often that people heard that tone of voice in Albus Dumbledore. He always had an air of understanding around him, never clouded in any way. But Luna brought out something different.

She didn't blink. "Yes. It was very polite when we wrote in it, he wrote back. Would you like to see?" Lune rose from the chair she was seated in, extending the book above the grand mahogany desk.

Cautiously, Dumbledore reached his hand out, accepting the offer. He flipped through a few of the opening pages, and quickly saw that they lacked any sort of marking.

"It looks blank, sir. The only writing is the signature of the person who owned it, at the front."

Dumbledore turned to the front of the diary, and read the name.

He dropped the book onto his desk, thoughts racing through his mind.


	4. Darkness Drops

Seeing the Headmaster drop the little black book he had been holding moments before, Harry was anxious as to _why_. As far as he knew, while Dumbledore did odd things, this wasn't an action that could be waved away by saying the old man was barmy.

He still had his hands outstretched; the Headmaster did, over the diary, just like he had been holding it before. He was looking down on the black leather cover, and his lips were moving, like he was muttering to himself.

"You said this diary wrote back? That means one of you wrote in it?" That was the first question the old man thought of after a prolonged silence. He was nearly pleading, hoping the answer would be in the affirmative.

"Yes, sir. I wrote a total of two lines in the diary, before we agreed that it was a bad idea to continue." Harry was now especially glad he had listened to Hermione's advice at the time. While it was invigorating to know he had come close to apparent disaster, he preferred safety.

"Very good."

Dumbledore looked uncertainly at the book lain innocently on his desk. Harry wondered if the Headmaster knew Riddle, he certainly seemed to, if his reaction to the name was indication. Old memories were probably swirling within his wrinkled head.

"You four have done remarkably well. I'll have to ask that you leave this diary in my care for the time being." His voice clearly left no room for argument, even though none of the students were attached to the diary. Even though he had a protective tone about the diary, he didn't dare touch. Or make to move it cautiously, as to not frighten the children more.

"What is it, sir?" Hermione sounded interested what was hidden in the diary. It had made the Headmaster react in a normal way. A normal response to fear of the unknown. It was somewhat scary.

"This is," He briefly paused, "This holds many answers to the current situation. It will likely answer a few questions as well. But it is dangerous, exceedingly so. Might I ask how this tome came into your possession?"

The slightly joyful tone in Dumbledore's voice was back, a gentle chiding of Harry for getting in some mischief. But there was a caution and a distance in it, as well.

The portraits all around the room were looking down on them, more gradually awakening throughout the conversation they had started in the office. A few looked on encouragingly, others looked disdainfully, and the rest were too busy not caring.

"Ron and I found it in Myrtle's bathroom, on the second floor, right after the new year. She said someone had lobbed it through her head, though she didn't see who had done it."

Harry saw the Headmaster frown slightly. There were probably many reasons for that.

"Let us hope that we might find who was responsible for the diary, then." He didn't like this news. While it certainly tipped Dumbledore off about the Chamber this time, before a true tragedy occurred, it wasn't any solid trail back to the culprit.

"Sir, what really happened when the Chamber was opened the first time?"

The sage's face froze for a few moments. "A tragedy occurred, as you all have read. As you have inferred, the culprit was not caught. For some reason, he decided to stop his venture, framing the person who was expelled. The Headmaster at the time had no reason to doubt the tale thus that became the fact of the time."

"The person who was framed... he was framed by the person who turned him in." It was a statement laced with uncertainty, though Luna continued with her reasoning aloud. "Then, that person was the culprit... the owner of this diary. Who is he?"

Dumbledore was likely pleased he had students that would be able to get to this point, though they seemed to have a reasonable incentive for doing so, besides pure curiosity.

"He is a player in a tragic tale, the one student that I have irrevocably failed. As you likely read, he was an exceptional student: gifted in magic, and he earned the respects of his peers and the faculty. There was much more to him, but that was not revealed until after he left these walls. Nor do many know the truth. Perhaps you might one day."

He obviously knew the secret behind Riddle, but was not willing to tell.

"What happened to the person who Riddle framed?"

Harry was unsure what he was expecting. Ideally, Dumbledore would tell a tale, or at least allude to one, of justice being served. Of rights being wronged. The penalty of expulsion from a Wizarding school probably made it almost impossible to find a footing again in the Wizarding world.

He didn't actually expect that.

"At that time, I had reservations about the man's guilt. Unfortunately, I was unable to convince Headmaster Dippet against expulsion, but I managed to secure the student in another position."

The cryptic manner of his statement warded off any further questions down that line of inquiry.

"I don't mean to question a Professor _too_ much," Hermione began, trying to drift towards another pertinent subject. "But are you intending to let Professor Lockhart continue on even after this year, assuming he is able and willing?"

She had grown out of her infatuation with the blowhard after a short enough time, though the recent escapades of his, culminating in the Duelling Club, helped to accelerate it. Harry had heard her comment more than a few times about the futility of the tests he gave (which was quite unusual coming from Hermione).

"I have heard various reports about my Defence professor, yes. He is an unusual case, indeed." That was as much of a nonanswer as anything.

"He's just as bad for us first years." Luna piped up.

"Yes, I fear that is true. Unfortunately, he is likely much worse for the students that have organised testing to take at the end of the year." Dumbledore said, referring to the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. "The Ministry has taken less of an interest in Defence since the fall of Voldemort, likely the lack of a threat to remind them of the danger."

He didn't sound too apologetic about it though. _All_ of the fault couldn't lie in the Ministry, surely.

"He's rubbish, absolutely." Ron felt like he had to say something for the conversation, less it would seem like a group effort. While he wasn't one for more work, he would have preferred to do work that had an actual benefit, rather than the readings that only preened and exacerbated Lockhart's ego.

"His accomplishments speak highly, however. And the current atmosphere surrounding the Defence position is... gloomy, so to say." There was a pang of regret as he spoke. "The curse seems real, though it might be more self-actualising than anything."

"If he does want to teach again, though... will you let him?" Harry really didn't hope that Lockhart's contract said Dumbledore had to continue to offer him employment if he so desired. That would be extremely bad.

"Though it pains me to reject a willing professor, I would kindly decline his offer."

At least they would only have to deal with Lockhart for one more year, if Dumbledore held his admission true.

Eventually, the two o'clock chimes from the Clock Tower could be heard.

"If you would excuse me, I have an appointment to make in a few minutes." Dumbledore had gotten from his chair, reaching over his fireplace mantle for a pinch of Floo powder. "While I very much appreciate the information you four have given me, please don't get yourselves into any mischief trying to find more. It seems with this," he turned back for a moment, gesturing to the diary, "The Chamber might never open again. But that remains to be seen."

* * *

It had been wonderful, knowing that all those hours in the library had finally borne some measure of fruit. The fact they seemed to be making some difference, without even having to face off against a teacher this time.

In these high spirits, the week went quickly for Harry. Quidditch practices resumed on Monday, and took a considerable portion of his time up. All the same, he was able to spend time with his friends, and was able to open up a side project with the Weasley twins. He had taken care to insure no one else knew, though.

The foremost problem which was now presented to Harry was the identity of Luna's tormentors. While the pranks would be non-harmful in general, there were some retaliatory components which he desired as well.

Harry figured that the best means to conduct reconnaissance would be through Myrtle in particular. In his first meeting with her, Harry learned that the lonely ghost had taken to being in the Ravenclaw ghost's company as of late. Soon enough, he was able to obtain a partial listing of targets.

He imagined the venture would be multi-faceted, slowly escalating through the week. In truth, he didn't need to seek the twins' help besides for the last portions.

He wasted little time getting started. The phrase, "Time waits for no one" was embedded in his mind. So on the night after the first Quidditch practice, 19 January, it began.

It was simple enough to start; it had to be given the little preparation Harry had beforehand. So he utilised the typical schoolyard pranks. Emptied inkwells, split quills, ripped bags, lost shoes. He liked some semblance of equity in what Luna had likely been shown.

Then, a larger brand of Hogwarts-styled pranking emerged after a few days. Harry was able to convince Peeves, though he seemed happy enough to have targets to menace. He ordered a large number of mechanical clocks, and had Myrtle hide them in corners of the dorms of the offenders. He extended it by placing them in their bags, as well, timed to occur during their Potions and Transfiguration lessons.

Yesterday, for the primary offenders, all their food was charmed to have no taste (though, this was really accomplished by a binary potion). Originally, Harry was going to embed messages within the food as well, but he realised that would cause more trouble for Luna.

The previous gestures weren't intended to be that obtrusive, just slightly irritating. The finale was different. He didn't expect any backlash after it.

* * *

"What's wrong?"

Luna was staring at Harry. It was a blank stare, like she didn't know herself why she was staring. Or maybe she did. It was unnerving: while a stare from across a table was one sort, she was to his right. And the sense had irritated him until he had to find out.

"You seem off, somehow. A little anxious... a little concerned." She said that last part suspiciously. Luna leaned more towards him, reaching a hand up and feeling his forehead. A light touch, brushing past his bangs. She had the care not to touch his scar. "No fever... are you feeling ill?"

She kept her hand on his forehead; she was still leaned in towards Harry... almost too uncomfortably close.

"N-no..." He could barely manage to get a single word out. There was a faint, pleasant scent in the air...

The owls began to pile in, going about their normal morning routine. Except that only a few, select Ravenclaws were being inundated with mail. The impatient owls flocked and flew about, waiting for their turn to deliver their parcels.

"Woah, I've never seen so many owls around one person!"

Ron was turned towards the noise, mouth agape. Hermione didn't say anything; she was just looking around as more owls streamed in. Luna did the same, separating from Harry. She could clearly see which people were targeted.

"Miss Edgecombe!" Flitwick had gotten up from the head table, hustling over where one student was being pelted by the more belligerent of the avians. He quickly cast a charm on the affected students to halt the owls' barrage. "Would I be correct in saying this influx was not intended? You weren't expecting a lot of mail?"

Edgecombe was happy that the bombardment had ceased, though one could still clearly see the remnants of tears in her eyes. "Y-Yes, I don't know why this happened..."

Harry realised he wasn't that cut out for pranking, if the pang of regret was any indication. _'That might change afterwards, though.'_

The owls, being unable to reach their targets (Fawcett, Chang, Entwhistle, and Cornfoot), went off down the Entrance Hall to attempt to find their way inside the Ravenclaw Tower. Of course, failing that, they would wander around aimlessly. Until the shielding charm that expired, then they would flock back, attempting once more to deposit their mail. The ones that had already dropped off letters went back to retrieve more from a storage bin Harry had charmed invisible in the Owlery.

Harry wondered how many repetitions it would take before all the post was delivered. He tried his best not to smirk, ignoring the pang of guilt and the driving stare to his right once more.

It was even more satisfying when, after all the commotion settled, one of the instigators finally got time to take a bite of their breakfast, probably finding an odd, scratchy feeling rasping against their tongue. Or maybe they swallowed it, never knowing what it had said. Uncertainty was always fun.

* * *

The aftermath of the owl incident was low key enough, suspicions were, of course, laid upon the Weasley Twins, but there was no evidence of the sort found. It didn't exist. The only hand they had in it was assisting Harry.

He was anticipating some sort of reaction from Luna. He didn't exactly know what it would be. After a while, he realised what her reaction was.

It was the stare.

Once he found it, it was easy enough to trace back when she had starting staring. When she had gotten a bit suspicious of him. It continued on, without much pause.

Recently, Luna had taken to accompanying the three Gryffindors in their common room. While at first this seemed like a blatant violation of the rules and statures of Hogwarts, that was soon to be disproven.

"The Ravenclaw portrait just requires a riddle for entry. Anyone can answer a riddle." Luna had said. It was a decent enough explanation.

Of course, if there was some rule against it, Hermione would be likely to find it. So she tried. She had come up with nothing, combing through all of her usual sources. She was about to ask a teacher, likely Flitwick since Charms was the next non-Potions class. But Harry had dissuaded her.

"We'll just explain our reasoning if McGonagall says anything." Harry didn't want another possible breach of Luna's privacy; she seemed fairly off-put by his recent ploy.

If he tried to engage her in any sort of conversation, she would be even _more_ unusually off-balancing than normal. Though, normalcy for her had degraded to mere eccentricity, from the low-key lunacy that it was for everyone else.

It was too much, though. It only took a few days for Harry to crack under the strain.

"Alright," He said to no one in particular, "You've won. I'm sorry. I was wrong."

They were once more in the secluded corner of the common room; the Wizarding Wireless had a melody lightly drifting in the air. All of the other students were lazily working on their own things, or merely relaxing after gorging themselves at dinner.

Ron and Hermione looked confused at his admission, Harry had sounded thoroughly tired of whatever sort of game he appeared to be playing. With an invisible participant, if the lack of response was any further indication.

Around the common room, there weren't any others which seemed to respond, either. Ginny was off, a little distant at the next table, along with Neville and Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnigan, Romilda Vane, and a few other Gryffindors were around the fireplace and the couch in front of it.

Only Harry saw Luna grin in response, somewhat triumphant.

"Are you sure you're not talking to that voice now?" Ron gently chided. He couldn't resist an opportunity to lightly poke fun at his friend.

"That voice... you mean the one you guys couldn't hear at Halloween?"

"Yeah, that one, wonder what that bloody thing was..."

Hermione didn't bother reprimanding him for language, her face was somewhat screwed up in thought. Ron looked at her oddly, a question primed on his tongue, but she spoke before he said anything.

"Ooh, Harry!" She said it a bit too loudly, but she was likely understandably excited about some revelation. "What if that was Parseltongue you were hearing...? It would have been the creature!"

"It sounded like it was coming from the stone, through the walls. How could something travel through the walls?"

"It would likely utilise something already existing within Hogwarts." Luna said. "Maybe through the plumbing?"

"So we've got something that can petrify or kill with a glare _in our pipes._ Thrilling." Harry said sarcastically.

"But Dumbledore seemed to think that the diary was somehow needed for the Chamber to open... So maybe the creature is again shut in the Chamber?" Hermione said, hopefully. It wasn't that long of a stretch, the motive of the crimes didn't seem to be wide, indiscriminate petrification or killings. Whoever was in control was trying to accomplish something through fear.

"We'll never know if it was really needed... unless it opens again." Harry punctuated his statement with a sort of haunting tone.

It _had_ been relatively quiet, since Justin's petrification. But it wasn't even on two months of silence from the beast yet, so it wasn't that great of a period to say that it had gone inactive once more, like it had before.

It was likely that Hermione wanted to change the subject from something so macabre, though the one she dredged up was almost as bad.

"Do you two need any sort of help on your fourteen inches for Transfiguration?" The bossy know-it-all had taken to offering assistance, rather than being practically forced to giving it at the last minute (especially in Ron's case).

"_Of course_ I haven't done it all, do I look like you?" Ron was defiant, even though the alternative was extremely unpleasant. He only got a glare in response. "Fine, fine. _Please_, if you would be so kind as to assist me, I would be _ecstatic_." The mocking words were almost dripping with (harmless) venom.

Harry chuckled, watching Ron and Hermione go back and forth. At least the prat had changed a lot in the last year to be quite a bit kinder. Outright hostility towards those who helped didn't go that greatly, for repeat aid.

"You're done with everything of yours, Luna?" Harry asked. It was a mostly rhetorical question, since she was reading the Daily Prophet, he had seen her dive into her bag to take out and probably compare articles between the two publications.

"Yes, are you somehow bored?" She said it without the faintest hint of amusement, though it felt like it should be there.

He should have figured she'd be finished; the first year wasn't all that bad for Harry, excluding all of the mischief surrounding the Stone. And Luna had been sorted into Ravenclaw, though she was an atypical specimen.

"Er, yes. You could say that." It was certainly true; he had finished his Transfiguration essay earlier. Ron was too occupied with his own work, and Hermione was off helping him. They worked busily at the same table.

"Then, would you like to read _The Quibbler_? You've never read it, right?"

For some strange reason, he nodded at both questions. Some possession of his mind and will, surely.

Luna placed the Prophet back, flat on the table, and once more reached down to pick up the now fairly worn magazine. With a sharp motion, she jerked her chair nearer to his, opening the publication right side up.

"Daddy's running the second half to an article from this month," She pointed to one of the cover stories. "And it never hurts to go over and read again, I always manage to find some little thing I missed before..."

Harry squirmed as he tried to concentrate reading the paper, squirming and moving bit by bit further away from Luna, edging closer, nearly falling off his chair. He tried to find something else to distract him; he couldn't focus on the text very well. He heard the crackling of the fire underneath the stone mantle. The other conversations in the common room were dying down; Harry had seen a few students head up to their dormitories recently. Hermione and Ron were still working on the Transfiguration prompt. Ginny walked up the girls' staircase, her pale complexion was probably some trick of the shadow and the low light.

A finger jabbed in to his side, lightly. "Are you done?" Luna cocked her heard towards Harry.

He could see the flickers reflecting clearly in her silvery eyes. "No, I... I got a tad distracted." The last few words came out in a rush; he was still looking straight at her.

"Hm, that's fine then. Take your time; please tell me when you're done."

**New evidence suggests Senior Undersecretary involved in Rotfang Conspiracy**

_In the past few years, there has been a wealth of information uncovered suggesting the complicity of our Ministry of Magic in an international conspiracy. The main motivators in this have been the various vampiric clans, relying first on their control of their own Ministries. The primary means of infiltration is, of course, the use of over-sugared candies to undermine the authority of people in non-controlled positions within the government..._

It went on. Certainly, the evidence _supported_ the position the author of the article had taken, but there were so many other explanations for all of the events described. All of them infinitely more feasible, as well. While it certainly wasn't the most factual, so far this competitor to the _Daily Prophet_ seemed to at least be somewhat entertaining.

"Alright Luna, I've finished." He turned his head back to the right, and he wasn't that surprised to see Luna staring at him again. "Do you just try to unnerve _everyone_ like that?" _'Though, I'll be getting used to it if she continues like this... does that justify or invalidate it?'_

"Not everyone," She let go of the page she had clutched, flipping to the next section of the article. "Just you."

Harry could swear he heard Hermione giggling, though he couldn't see over the propped up magazine. He probably looked absolutely ridiculous, holding up one half of some tabloid-esque rag, with an almost assuredly certifiably _loony_ person spending her time staring straight at him.

"I feel so honoured." Harry said, finally. Nothing else felt very appropriate, and it at least maintained some dignity in the face of this barrage.

'_At least she'll turn back to read... I hope'_

She did, and Harry was thankful. He really detested any sort of attention, he just wanted to manage along and continue life as always. So when he had first come to Hogwarts, all the stares had unnerved him at first. Then they irritated him greatly. Ever since then, pretty much every stare provoked the same emotion. A cool, seething annoyance. Every stare from every person besides one.

The article went on and on about each of the involved members within the Ministry with the Rotfang conspiracy. It even delved into a few of the more prominent members in the other ministries of magic. Of course, Fudge, the Minister for Magic, had been subverted long ago, before he had taken office.

"There, with that, you should have everything in your essay." Hermione's voice clearly broke through.

"Thanks, didn't expect to write sixteen inches when I only had to write fourteen..." Ron said, sounding quite displeased at having to do any measure of extra work.

"I swear... That was only the _minimal_ requirement. And there's still a lot of stuff you just skimmed over."

Harry knew Hermione's essays were always well in excess of the minimum, and she was generally a wreck whenever a professor assigned a strict maximum length (though, this was a favourite of Snape). Of course, in response, she just cramped down her writing to fit everything in.

Ron, now finished, was packing away the last of his things, as was Hermione. Probably heading off to sleep, if the time was any indication. _'11:23 is just about the limit, I guess.'_

"Luna... you forgot about curfew. It's almost half past eleven." Harry deadpanned.

"Oh," She grabbed his left arm, looking at his wristwatch. "So I did."

"Hold up a second, I'll make sure Filch doesn't catch you." Harry went back upstairs, quietly taking his invisibility cloak out of the trunk. Neville and Dean had already gone to sleep, indicated by the drawn beds.

"Right then, don't manage to get caught somehow, though that'd be something to manage." Ron smirked. Having use of an invisibility cloak made one have even less regard for the rules.

Harry was uncertain how he would have lived through his education without the wondrous piece of cloth. Thankfully, it was large enough for multiple people to fit under.

"Come on then, Luna. Let's get going."

She and Harry headed out of the entrance portal to the common room, through the Fat Lady. They quickly slipped under the cloak after the portrait swung closed. He made sure to whisper to Luna, "Make sure you keep your feet under the cloak... insure it drags."

Travelling with someone else under the cloak was always an awkward venture, between varying paces, and trying to make sure you were always hidden, progress went slowly.

Stairs were such a pain, as well; two flights were between the entrance to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Towers.

The corridors were always silent at this time, occasionally there was a student that passed by, creeping around, but that was not an ordinary occurrence. Much more common would be a ghost floating aimlessly through the halls, or hearing the heavy footsteps of Filch prowling somewhere. Even if he wasn't too particularly close, his feet resounded through the empty halls.

There were times when he was able to burst through unexpectedly, likely utilising one of the many secret passages the castle had.

There were also occasions when Filch camped outside of a feature of the castle (the entrance to the Astronomy Tower, one of the House towers, etc.). Like he was now; outside of the Ravenclaw entrance.

Inwardly sighing, Harry held his arm out in front of Luna, making sure she noticed the caretaker. The last thing he needed was to stop in the middle of the floor while Luna continued on, obliviously taking the cloak off of at least one of them.

No, that certainly would be unfortunate. Standing out in the middle of the corridor was almost as bad. Silently, he motioned for Luna to turn back, down towards the main staircase. Around the corner, they quickly found an unused classroom. A quick unlocking charm provided access, accompanied by a silencing spell.

"Hopefully he goes away soon enough, I'm exhausted." Harry spoke quietly even though he had soundproofed the room. He spent a few moments examining all the walls of the room for something.

"Looking for Dabberblimps?" Luna queried, seeing Harry's head bobbing around for something.

"Close, just checking for Dumbledore." Harry commented, obliquely referencing the time he and Ron had visited the room with the Mirror of Erised.

The room was cold, as expected. It probably hadn't seen any use for a very long time. The amount of free classrooms within the castle was staggering. Harry doubted the rooms were just there to hang more portraits, even though this one was adorned in them.

"Say, why did you do _that_?" Luna had her back turned towards him, looking at some Rococo styled painting. She had no need to explicitly state what she was referring to.

"Why? Because I wanted to. Though, why did I want to? Retribution, I guess." He shrugged; it was an impulse that had made him try his hand at Fred and George's area of expertise. Even he thought his own showing was rather poor.

"That much was obvious. But please, don't." Her back was still facing Harry, a faint hint of anger in her voice.

Harry felt childish, even though he was twelve; he was _supposed_ to be childish. But the way she said it made it sound like it was a bad thing.

"But," Luna turned around, towards Harry, who was sitting on one of the desks propped against the wall. She gently grinned, genuinely pleased. "Thank you, all the same. Just don't bother with it again."

She had a lovely smile.

* * *

The castle was changed the next morning, the corridors filled with gruff looking men. Confused, the three Gryffindors made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, having to get on with their day no matter what.

It didn't take that long for everyone to find out exactly what was happening, Dumbledore stood at the beginning to make an announcement.

"Excuse me," His amplified voice silenced the noisy students in the room. "From this morning onward, the Ministry of Magic has been _kind_ enough to dispatch a task force of Aurors, in order to insure the corridors of the castle are safe for students."

Once she was sure Dumbledore had finished, Hermione's hand shot into the air. He motioned for her to speak.

"Exactly in what capacity will they be serving?"

The actual wording of the question was quite rude, though the tone of the sentence had every bit of respect in it.

"Auror Dawlish, if you could..."

The man identified as Dawlish stood; he was sitting at one end of the extended head table. He walked over to where Dumbledore was, likely to intone some great speech.

"We are here to insure the safety of all the students at Hogwarts, in light of the recent incidents which have occurred." His voice was authoritative, probably used to bombast in front of the men he commanded. "We do not intend to impede any education here, we only seek to protect. Thankfully, the Headmaster _graciously_ accepted our presence when the Minister for Magic so magnanimously offered our assistance."

Dawlish had a cocky grin on his face throughout the entire monologue. It was disgusting.

"Honestly, I don't see how this will stand," said Hermione, speaking low and indignantly as Dawlish droned on, unimportantly, in the background. "Hogwarts has been established since before the Ministry, any sort of interference in its affairs is nearly _unthinkable._ I can't imagine the Board of Governors will have anything good to say about all of this..."

The outraged tone was endearing, in a way. While she was normally a bit annoying (though, Harry had to admit she was right about things most of the time), it didn't seem to come off that way now.

"I don't think they would be able to do too much," Luna spoke softly, evaluating the situation. "On the surface, all the Ministry has done is offer and give protection, even though they're likely after more. Try to refuse that... and the Prophet will be sure to jump on that, and ride the public's outrage."

While it was somewhat sad that the public wouldn't be outraged over the violation of internal affairs of Hogwarts, Harry had to admit that it didn't sound at all bad superficially.

"They won't be able to do that much, y'know." Ron was eating slower now, getting in on the conversation. "My dad's always complaining about the Ministry, how anything takes five years to do. Mind you," He took a large bite, taking three fourths of a dinner roll. "They're Aurors, so they'll be a tad faster. But they're still Ministry people, all the same."

"I've heard as much about the Muggle government as well," Harry recalled his uncle boisterously decrying local to parliamentary affairs. "Just another proof that there isn't any real difference between wizards and Muggles. Just magic."

"Oh, he's finished." Luna's displeasure with Dawlish was apparent.

Harry could see Neville and Ginny migrating towards the four outcasts. The social situation had certainly diminished in ferocity recently, if only for lack of anything. Nothing new had happened, no proof of anything, just suspicions. The rumours still flew heavily, though.

"That's an Auror, huh?" said Neville, conjuring up some great image of the man's heroic deeds.

"A highly promoted official within the Ministry, who can serve in the capacity of an Auror, yes." added Luna scathingly. She seemed to have some sort of a grudge against the man, if not the profession.

"While he certainly is a bit of a git, he can't do anything illegal." Harry was at least confident in the governmental employee's ability to follow the word (if not the spirit) of the law.

"The other ones are more..." Ginny was speaking a lot softer than Harry remembered, as her eyes went over to a pair of Aurors that were flanking the way towards the Entrance Hall. They looked brutish.

From the low whispers around the other tables, much of the school felt the same way. Once more a shadow of uneasiness dropped over Hogwarts.

* * *

NB: Obviously a shorter chapter than usual, with a longer update period. I got buried in a few splatbooks. A few "changes" to note: the Ministry isn't _quite_ as absurdly foolish as in the books, and Harry's a touch more attentive, if not outright a bit smarter.

The next chapter will be longer, though it'll be about a week.


	5. Spilt Milk

27 January, 1993

As unsettled as the general populace might become, there are several _magnificent_ creatures which are above such a plebeian feeling.

Great monuments to humanity such as Draco Malfoy.

The castle had been steadily falling into despair, especially right after the term had resumed. But this morning, the Ministry finalised the assignment of Aurors to the school. Everyone at breakfast descended into barely hushed excitement and further worry immediately after the vainglorious Dawlish had spat off his diatribe. He wasn't very subtle about his opinion of the way the school was run, even though he had no real authority at the castle. The Board of Governor's reaction would be fascinating, though it would take until summer to hear anything much about it.

Draco was standing confidently, postured just around the corridor from the Potions classroom. At this position, the Aurors (stationed for the students' safety, etc.) were beyond view. But they were still close enough, as was Snape, to come when they heard a commotion being raised.

He wanted that alarm to go off.

"I said, aren't you afraid, with all these Aurors here to take you in, Potter?" He spat the last word out, in mocking fury.

The class had just ended, and the ghost wouldn't notice the lack of Gryffindors trickling into his classroom. If he had done this before the Potions class, his godfather would have surely noticed the dearth in new arrivals, though he likely wouldn't care a whit.

"Oh?" Potter stepped back, Draco having positioned himself in boy's path. He tried to feign some sense of indifference, not being able to hold it for long. "Get out of the way, Malfoy."

There was a lingering sense of a threat beneath the otherwise terse (and quite rude) words.

But Malfoy pushed on.

Even though the pathetic whelp of a pureblood, Weasley, was making his face the same colour as his ghastly hair.

"What's wrong, Heir? Can't you do anything?"

Potter had tried to move to the other side of the corridor, to scamper off with his tail between his legs. But Crabbe and Goyle had made their way to block the Gryffindor's advance.

There wasn't all that much reason why Draco was doing this. On the surface, it was the typical interaction between the two: the taunting and hopeful degradation. Added to that, Potter _was_ the Heir, or so everyone thought. While Slytherins were low in the eyes of many of the students, Potter was five steps below (most of) them. Seven steps below Draco.

But Draco knew that the insufferably Gryffindor-ish Gryffindor couldn't possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. It was a travesty of thought. Filth, _mud_, splashed across the name of the greatest of the Founders.

Potter had taken a much bolder stance, standing straight, and hand readied to draw his wand at any moment. No one was foolish enough to have drawn their wands yet, at this point this skirmish was at the point either could deny any real provocation.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Malfoy?" So he had grown a spine. "Run along now, snake."

He _almost_ flashed his hand in his robes, to show the Potter boy who exactly he was dealing with. But Draco thought better of it.

"Come on now! Where's all your might gone? Just standing there like you'll _stare_ me to death." The last few words of Draco's came out as a sneer, not drawing anything from what they meant as Potter flinched a little in response.

"Oy, break it up!"

That was annoying. The stupid children gathering in the middle of the blasted corridor attracted one of those Aurors before Draco could get Harry to do _something_. He wasn't sure what exactly he was aiming for, but the blonde had hoped for something that was mildly interesting.

"You two..." The Auror pointed at Draco and Potter, who were staring at each other violently. "Whaddya think you're doing? Go along now… get out of here."

He tried to sound authoritative, but he failed pretty spectacularly. Draco recognized him from a description his father had let slip in passing once, if he recalled correctly. The pathetic waste of air that William Nash was. A lowly, bungling Auror that was as bad as any employee in the Ministry. Though, that was always a good thing when the government tried to raid your house….

Draco couldn't do anything more now, with this busybody interfering. He relaxed, obviously leaving himself to a quick retaliation by Potter. But even such an impetuous scab wouldn't take it with that Auror breathing down his neck.

Saying a few words to placate the busybody, Draco slipped off, two lackeys close behind. The walk from the dungeons up to Herbology was quite long, and never that pleasant during the winter months. It suited his sulking demeanour after this failed attempt.

* * *

The students slowly trickled out from the Great Hall following breakfast, many content to clump into their own little groups to talk about the possibly far-reaching implications of the recent Auror additions.

For the time being, it didn't matter to Harry. It would change very little how things functioned at the school, unless something else occurred. But in that case, change would be inevitable. It was slightly unsettling that they might provide the catalyst for an even greater upheaval than that which had occurred throughout the year.

Right now, Potions class was Harry's only real concern. All the other problems in the world shrank into the background as he steadily marched towards the dungeons, filing into the cold corridors along with the other Gryffindors... and Slytherins.

Passing an Auror near the doorway, he slipped into the dungeon, the large room scarcely filled with the other students. Snape was in one corner, preparing something with his back turned to the entering students.

"Are they just going to stand inside of _every_ class?" Hermione glared as the man who was standing outside the doorway stepped in, as the classroom finally began to fill up more.

"I dunno, does it matter though?" Ron busied himself, getting a few of his things out. He didn't want to risk any encounters with Snape, even though Harry provided ample distraction... usually.

"Of course it matters! This is a blatant violation of the distinction between the Ministry and the school. Hogwarts has always had mostly _carte blanche _for its policies, it was founded long before the Wizard's Council was established..."

She went on, talking about the early years' relationship between the school and the predecessor to the Ministry of Magic. After she was finally finished regurgitating facts Harry and Ron would forget a few minutes later, she gasped for breath, having been caught up in her rant.

"I would advise you, Miss Granger, not to inhale so deeply. The _art_ of crafting in Potions can produce quite... noxious fumes. Surely you of all people would remember that fact."

It was always a significant way to start a lesson, by berating one of the Gryffindors. Either Snape would remark on Neville's bumbling actions around his cauldron, or spout off on some tangent about Harry. He had gotten the surprise vital for the announcements (though, they were hardly surprises anymore, after occurring twice per week for one and one half years now) timed to wondrous precision: Snape always managed to find some clever way to set the class on edge.

"Try not to muck around, _try_ to create even a simple Warming Potion without destroying half of the dungeons, Longbottom." He stalked off back to his desk, content to set to work on the piles of assignments he was to grade.

The heavy, iron cauldrons sat over their fires, beginning to warm up as the base ingredients for the potion were added. Preparations for the lesson often took a good deal of time, but that allowed the students' time to orient themselves with the subject. Even though Potions was conducted with a partner, each person had their own cauldrons. Typically, each member of the duo would take turns either chopping, mashing, or skinning ingredients, while the other took some time to indulge in the material.

Or to flop about wildly, splashing about and generally making a mess of things. Add to that sloppy cuts (which interfered with the diffusion rate of certain substances within ingredients), and the high tension between the two Houses in this particular class, and Potions was a time block which points were traded very liberally.

It was bad at times, especially when Harry paired up with Neville, like today. The only person who could possibly compete for the greasy man's attentions was the shy Gryffindor. Unfortunately, this focusing of Snape's often resulted in many fiascos. Either resultant from Neville's nervousness (and eventual flummoxing of the recipe), or targeted attacks by the Slytherins.

'Attacks' wasn't the best word, though. Thankfully, many of their pranks were relatively harmless (or as harmless as mucking up a potion could be). Few resulted in spectacular explosions with geysers of half-finished mixture (which had occurred with Swelling Solution when Ron and Harry had sent off a firework into a cauldron so Hermione could steal the last two ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion).

"Next, you have to cut the porcupine quills into—No, a little bit longer than that, move your knife, it's supposed to be a hand." Neville's tool moved a bit to the right, so the length of cut segment was around ten centimetres. "There, right about there. We need eight quills between the two of us, total."

The Wizarding world was quite slow to adapt to change, as was evident by just about _everything_ around them. It really shouldn't have come to much of a surprise to Harry that they were still using an old system of measurement. Most of the units were fairly identical, but there were always a few terms which cropped up that he had to find some other identification about.

"I can't believe they sent Aurors..." Neville was usually fairly quiet, not wanting to incur Snape's wrath for talking non-topically in class. As usual, though, he spoke barely above a whisper, his exhalation moving the now rising fumes from above the cauldron's rim, as he poured in three jiggers of honeywater.

The scepticism in his voice indicated more that Neville was surprised Snape had tolerated the one's presence, as Neville's eyes jittered towards the doorway with what he had said. Harry noticed also, staring for a few seconds, that Snape was also looking towards the Auror to his left, though with a significantly more malevolent expression than Neville had.

"I'm not sure what to think, I haven't heard much good about the Ministry." Harry's experiences with the Wizarding government were limited to a letter he had received from their Improper Magical Usage office. That was hardly a pleasant introduction.

Neville didn't say anything, seeing that Snape had turned back towards the two of them. He probably didn't want to lose any points, so he continued with the beginning steps of his potion.

Surprisingly enough, the lesson went well enough. There were no great disasters, and somehow, Gryffindor had not even lost any points. Though, Slytherin did gain a few. But a partial victory was better than a total loss, Harry conceded.

Turning in his phial, with his precious brew contained within, he went back, packing up all of his supplies into the somewhat organised system of his Potions kit. It certainly made finding everything a lot easier, but it was nowhere near the level of perfection of compartmentalisation of Hermione's. But Harry didn't care at all.

Wednesdays were unfortunate. The two classes Gryffindor second years had, Potions and History of Magic, were both considered by many to be not ideal. That is to say, they weren't necessarily _bad_ (though, on many occasions, he hated Potions, but recognised its apparent value), just not the perfect class. Though, at Hogwarts, there weren't that many unanimously loved courses.

Astronomy was somewhat invigorating, but it was also annoying for the same reason it instilled a sense of vitality: most students don't like to climb up to the highest point of the castle past midnight for class. Defence Against the Dark Arts was taught by a moron, even worse than last year's class taught by Quirrel. It was somewhat funny that a man half-possess by Voldemort could teach Defence better than the ultimate showman.

Herbology, was, in all honesty, probably the most engaging and non-frustrating of courses. That was especially magnified since Halloween, considering they tended to minor tasks surrounding the care of the vital Mandrakes at times. Transfiguration was just behind Herbology, though it wasn't quite as high because of the difficulty of the subject. The ability to transform objects into something they weren't originally was an appropriately challenging subject. Dreadfully useful, but very irritating at times.

The best thing History of Magic had was that it didn't have Slytherins sharing the same classroom, which was a consolation Harry was always thankful for after Potions. He hurriedly scampered out of the room, being one of the last students out from the dungeons (Neville's concoction had partially congealed at the bottom of his cauldron; Harry had helped him remedy the mess).

His stomach sank a bit as he saw Malfoy in the middle of the corridor, standing somewhat triumphantly.

"Running from the Auror, Potter?"

He had that sickening smirk on his mug, but Harry was quite used to it by now. There really wasn't anything to gain from rising to Malfoy's provocations, anyways, so Harry just continued busily down the hallway, until the bastard nearly crashed into him.

"I said, aren't you afraid, with all these Aurors here to take you in, Potter?"

Malfoy's face was far too close to Harry's for any sense of comfort, it was disgusting. The Slytherin's tone was slightly on edge, malevolent with a hint of indignation, like he was trying to start something.

"Oh?" Harry had stepped back, trying to not be nearer than necessary to the other boy. He waited a while in silence, still vainly hoping Malfoy would run off. But he didn't. "Get out of the way, Malfoy."

He didn't want to have this escalate into anything, and Harry hoped by at least letting a little bit of anger slip into his voice, that Malfoy would be satisfied that he'd gotten a rise from the Gryffindor.

"What's the matter, Heir? Can't you do anything?"

There was no chance of détente, as he motioned for his two lackeys to block the other portions of the thoroughfare, as Harry moved to bypass the Slytherins quickly.

There were plenty of things he could do, of course. He could stun him, like he might have at the Duelling Club. There was always the Full-Body Bind, as well, three quick ones in succession for all three Slytherin targets. Those were all spells, though, magic forbidden in the corridors. Right in the domain of Snape. While Harry wasn't a stickler for rules, he wasn't wilfully stupid.

Besides, that wasn't what Malfoy was even looking for. He wanted the _Heir_ _of Slytherin_ to do something. Though, Harry wasn't even able to do that. And both of them knew it. So it was just useless posturing from an arrogant boy.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Malfoy?" Two could play at that game; at least he'd get some satisfaction out of the mess this was likely to become. "Run along now, snake."

He tried to punctuate the last words with a somewhat menacing glare. Harry thought it had an effect, as he saw Malfoy's wand arm jitter for a moment, then still itself.

"Come on now! Where's all your might gone? Just standing there like you'll _stare_ me to death."

So he'd elected for bombast again, over anything physical or magical. It reminded Harry of his first year, when he had been drawn out to the Trophy Room with the lure of a duel.

Harry's thoughts were broken when he heard footsteps quickly approach from behind him, from the Potions dungeon.

"Oy, break it up!"

It wasn't Snape, at least. A slight comfort, if anything. Harry turned back around, towards the approaching Auror, as nondescript as a man in his position could be. He stepped between the two juveniles, posturing.

"You two..." He pointed at each of them in turn. "Whaddya think you're doing? Go along now… get out of here."

The Auror only sounded slightly irritated, and his eyes didn't even move upwards towards Harry's scar. He didn't linger, though, taking the cue to leave, he promptly left the dungeons to head to History of Magic.

* * *

29 January, 1993

Even though there was an initial burst of uneasiness due to the stationing of Aurors, after a few days, the mood of the castle seemed to settle down to normalcy, or at least more than it had before.

Many students felt as if the extra people around the castle were just like extra suits of armour that had already been well-established decor. The only notable difference between the two was that the plate looked good. Progressively, Filch had degraded into a more pitiable state, the temporary loss of Mrs. Norris was taking its toll on him.

Slowly, Dawlish had tried to exchange his purview in the castle towards investigation towards the Chamber incident, but was understandably making little leeway. No progress had been made by the faculty, who were present at all of the scenes, and who knew the entire population of the school: so why would some outsiders have been gifted some miraculous knowledge of the events and their solution?

"I really do think you're overlooking something, Dumbledore." Fudge's words had a hint of menace behind them, as he sat across from the Headmaster, Dawlish seated in the chair next to him.

The early nights Hogwarts experienced made the office blackened out, only lightly illuminated by the various, weak sources scattered across the large room. The faint, melodious singing of Fawkes could be heard, barely constraining himself while the three men spoke.

"I assure you, Cornelius," He was tired of trying to have to explain it, over and over again, "there is little that you will be able to find here, unfortunately enough. Despite all our efforts, we have been unable to discern the identity of the attacker."

Fudge nearly jumped from his seat, ready to decry the older man for falsehoods. He barely restrained himself, but it was rather easy to see how unsettled he had become.

"You are welcome to keep trying, of course." Breaking for a moment, Dumbledore smiled gently. "But it is a vain gesture."

Dawlish almost started to protest, but held back, deciding he couldn't gain anything from it. From the looks of it, the Headmaster _was_ right, every piece of information just led to a dead end in the case. He still had to try, though. While he had been off of the more rigorous duties of an Auror for a while, he was still somewhat practiced in the means of his occupation.

"Harry Potter... you're absolutely certain it isn't him?"

His question was logical, perfectly so. Going back through everything, it all seemed to be linked to Potter, Dawlish thought. And everyone else thought, for that matter.

"Mr. Potter is not responsible for this incident, though he is, sadly, very much involved." Dumbledore calmly deflected any allegation of wrongdoing. The Auror thought himself somewhat heretical, to be questioning the boy who had saved Britain from the Dark Lord eleven years ago.

But it was the only thing that really made _sense_.

"Even though it's the Board of Governors which decides your term as Headmaster, I hope you don't think you'll keep the position after this year." There was truth as much as threat within those words, though the future of the school itself was quite indeterminate from there on. If the man who sat at the top of the administration, the one who had defeated Grindelwald, who held so many positions within different organs of government, both nationally and internationally, who could protect Hogwarts?

Dumbledore stood up, slowly, turning his back to the two men, and looked upon the dizzying variety of silvered instruments behind his heavy desk. Occasionally, he'd reach a hand up to one shelf or another, prodding them and checking something.

"That will be of no concern." He sounded supremely confident, if not a bit detached to the whole scenario.

"If it's not Potter, then what about your Groundskeeper? He opened it last time..." Fudge wasn't quite stupid enough to believe that Hagrid was actually at fault for the first opening of the Chamber, though from the vantage point of others, he was the next most likely suspect. Furthermore, that it was Dumbledore's word (which, of course, would become known in the _Prophet_) that had kept the man on the grounds once Dippet had expelled him... Even with the "culprit" found, Dumbledore's tenure would be at an end.

"He is also not responsible for this series of events." Dumbledore sat back down, apparently satisfied with whatever he had done to the things behind his chair. "For now, there is little else we can do, but wait."

"Wait! Why would you possibly say that? Every second more you wait, every moment longer... there's the risk they'll attack again." While the Ministry had little to no say in how the school was run, it was still a primary concern of the government that the school was operable. The loss of the institute would be crippling for the nation, even though a second school could be set up soon enough. But that would wipe prestige from Britain, as Hogwarts sat upon the pedestal with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, as the premier magical schools of Europe.

Fudge was primarily a politician, still looking out for himself. But it was in everyone's interests to close this case.

"We have little else to do, Cornelius." Once more, he had taken on the gently lecturing tone. "But at the end of this, we will be able to remedy the mistakes of nearly fifty years ago. And possibly gain something more."

There was that dreaded glint in the Headmaster's eyes, the taunting of knowledge he wouldn't give up, no matter how much anyone asked. Or, if he was begged for it, he would give it up, piece by piece, at the end making no sense whatsoever.

"I don't like this." Dawlish's grumbling broke a few moments of quiet, before it settled in again.

February was going to be frustrating.

* * *

13 February, 1993

The first part of the month went quickly. Fudge was seen lurking about a few times throughout February, especially around the sixth floor where Dawlish had taken his office to be. The Aurors continued their watch of the castle, and another detachment was also sent to Hogsmeade on the weekend outings the older students enjoyed.

The Mandrake's growth continued, slowly as always. Snape still had a sour attitude about him perpetually fouler with the omnipresence of the extra wizards. Harry saw them look at the Potions professor suspiciously more than once; he was barely able to restrain a chuckle, before he had returned to brewing his potion.

McGonagall was unaffected, continuing in her utmost determination to impart the wisdoms of Transfiguration upon all of her students, no matter how much hammering it took. She had also reminded them, her Gryffindors especially, that they would have to decide which elective courses to take next year. But that was far enough off to be a little concern for now.

Binns was still dead.

And there was nothing else about the Chamber.

"There has to be something," Harry said. He almost wished that someone else would get petrified, if it would provide something to catch whoever was behind all of this mess. "We must have missed something."

Hermione bit her lip, unsure exactly what to say.

"There isn't anything, at all." Ron was content, finishing up the vestiges of his meal. But he held of sense of finality in his voice. "Why can't you just relax, Harry? Enjoy life."

His words were true enough. It really wasn't any student's responsibility to take care of any of the school's problems, especially one of this magnitude. The sense of urgency they had before was diminished now.

Shortly after Dawlish and his underlings had arrived, Harry was, predictably, taken in for "a few questions". At the end of the blunt interrogation, Dawlish had nothing to go on, and was left with little other choice but to return the boy to the rest of his evening.

As a side effect, the rest of the population began to warm up to the Gryffindors, gradually. The fact that Dawlish had released Harry was yet another portion of proof. The lack of attacks, plus the notably uncharacteristic form of the attacks, also helped.

There were some who weren't as understanding, of course. Among those affected were the friends of the petrified persons, the Hufflepuffs especially seemed to still be slightly detached. Beyond that, though, the castle had settled into its semi-normal state of affairs, as the time had drifted onwards to the Quidditch match today.

Even though it wasn't on the same level of excitement as the Slytherin/Gryffindor matches, there was always a sense of thrill that went through the student body as Saturday approached. This time, Ravenclaw and Slytherin were the two competing teams.

The snow-covered way to the pitch began to fill as the students shuffled outside of the castle, intent on quickly seating themselves up on the raised stands. The usual chill pervaded, the harsh wind serving as an impetus for fast, long strides.

Soon enough, the stands filled with the majority of people who would be attending the match. The stands themselves were partially shielded from the gales, though it still let in some of the breeze. But it blocked a good portion of it, as it howled around the platform, some twenty metres in the air.

Harry always had an odd feeling watching Quidditch matches. Half the time he was darting his eyes about, trying to catch the glint of the Snitch, or watching as the two Seekers flew high above the throngs of other players. The other half he was trying to restrain himself from doing so, trying to be content to match the constant, quick action back and forth from the Chasers. And the seemingly long, dramatic shots at the hoops.

Unusually, Hermione had put up a relatively small fight for today's match. All of the last year, and earlier this year (at the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff match), she only barely, very reticently, came to the matches Gryffindor wasn't playing. There was even a time in their first year when she had refused, focusing on a project for Charms instead.

"Even though today is harsh, I'm sure you're all looking forward to the match!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the magical speaker system, full of excitement and life.

The crowd momentarily ceased with their murmurings, but soon resumed, louder this time. The players began shuffling onto the field.

"How will the Ravenclaw team fare versus the super fast, super expensive brooms of Slytherin? Do brooms make up for a lack of—"

There was the muffling sound of a microphone being taken away, and McGonagall was soon heard chastising the announcer. Even in this dreadful situation, Quidditch matches were like normal.

"Sorry, sorry. We're right at the halfway mark of the season with this match, so no matter what, it's bound to be exciting!"

Luna finally made her way to the stands, having been absent from breakfast, as well. It was now that Harry could see why. Planted on her head was an eagle, its wings flapping vigorously in the breeze.

The hurried, unnatural movements were a bit unsettling, though Harry supposed that was to be expected of Charms work from a first year student. Ron and Hermione had apparently taken notice of the hat as well. Hermione looked a bit apprehensive about the mechanical nature of the wings, while Ron simply stared, the vestiges of a grin beginning to splay itself across his face.

"Wicked!" Ron exclaimed, who nodded, showing his approval.

"I'm glad you like it, Ronald," Luna said with a smirk. The ginger shifted noticeably, obviously perturbed by the usage of his lengthened name. While it was easy enough for him to just shrug it off coming from Hermione (who only used it when she was scolding him), Luna liked to use it at random times, for some odd reason.

She sat down, near the front with the others. Neville, Ginny, and Dean Thomas were on the outer side of the platform, towards the Slytherin posts. The other four were seated on the right, towards the centre of the pitch.

Glancing over, Harry saw that Hooch had released the Bludgers and the Snitch.

"How long did it take you to make that?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I just finished up a few things on it this morning," Luna idly said, taking the hat off of her head and prodding the crook of its left wing with her wand, testing for some response. "It's a bit of a messy job, though..."

"Wow, it's still pretty nice, though. Where'd you get the idea?"

"I remembered seeing an odd hat at a shop in Diagon Alley, there was a vulture on it. Of course, Ravenclaw's bird isn't a vulture, so I had to change that." She chuckled to herself, carefully taking out a few skewed feathers. "And everything's always more interesting when it's moving about."

With that, she prodded it again. In response, the hawk snapped at her other hand, barely missing it before she snatched it back, placing it safely on her head again.

"And there goes the Quaffle into the air, along with the players! Quickly enough, Davies picking it up and..."

As Lee Jordan's announcement rang throughout, Harry turned a bit towards the pitch. He saw Roger Davies as he rose and picked up the Quaffle, moving into position to pass it off to the other Ravenclaw Chasers, if a Bludger headed for him.

Neville watched as well, Harry noticed, as he turned his attention away from the pitch. While he enjoyed the game, he didn't really care about much of it. The majority of Lee Jordan's commentary focused on the constant back-and-forth of the Chasers, along with interspaced remarks about Beaters and Bludgers. Very little was said about Seekers and Snitches, for good reason. It was pretty boring to watch.

"I don't see how any of you really find this entertaining," Hermioned sniffled, feeling the effects of the inclement weather. Deciding it was too much, she brought out her wand, casting a light warming charm on her garments.

"How can you _not_? This is wonderful!"

It was convenient enough, that seemingly for emphasis, one of the Slytherin Chasers flew past them, catching the airborne Quaffle.

"Well, maybe not everyone thinks like that," Hermione began, and then looked around, probably for an example. She soon latched onto Neville. "Neville here doesn't seem it be enjoying it all that much."

She was somewhat triumphant, even though Ron merely looked at her in return; it seemed to imply he thought she was crazy. Ginny turned a bit at this, the sun glinting off some piece of metal stuck round her forehead. She gave an impassive stare, before returning her attention to the match.

"Oh, I'm fine, just a bit..." Neville trailed off in his thought, and wobbled a bit to the left. "Just a bit woozy, that's all. It's better than being in the castle all the time, at least."

At Neville's response, Hermione frowned; apparently upset she couldn't get a single sympathetic reaction from anyone.

Thinking back on it, it was pretty absurd to think Snape had sabotaged Harry's broom, way back last year. He could see the teacher now, across in the faculty stands, along with Lee Jordan and McGonagall, among others.

The day was, thankfully, relaxing enough. There wasn't anything due for classes, so there wouldn't even be any harping from Hermione to start on the work. And beyond that, Hogwarts had once again settled into a semi-routine way of life, even with all the changes bustling around the place.

Harry almost expected the distinctive _click_ and flash of a camera to disrupt his halcyon thoughts, and then he remembered that Colin was laid up in the Hospital Wing, a victim of the events of the 'peaceful' school.

"—And Bletchley saves! He keeps the score at 50-30, Slytherin."

It was always nice to get away from the normal concerns of life, even school life, if just for an hour or so.

* * *

14 February, 1993

It was a garish morning, if Lockhart's dress was any indication.

The general atmosphere of the Great Hall was subdued, if a bit cheerful. But that was to be expected, considering the date.

The decor, however, was something quite unusual, as much as it matched Lockhart's outfit. The normally sombre dining hall was decked in all sorts of liveries, a blazing hot _pink_.

Even worse was the announcement of the 'messengers' Lockhart was going to apparently be providing for the day's festivities. Already, a few of them were buzzing about, gnomes of some sort dressed in kin of Lockhart's garb.

The things were in a cheerful mood, if the singing was any sort of indicator. Meeting with some embarrassed students, the diminutive deliverers proffered up cards and other such assortments of goods.

The odd sense that he would be visited by such a messenger lurked at the back of Harry's mind. It would certainly be one way to worsen the day, as young as it was.

Ron had finally made his way to the table, having dashed off in a rush once they had entered the Great Hall. The sight of food spurred him on further, ever eager to eat.

"There's been word," Hermione began, having taken a seat beside Ron, "that the Minister for Magic is angling for something more."

She turned her head slightly towards Dawlish, clarifying what she had meant.

"What do you mean?"

Harry didn't really keep up with the news of any sort, instead being informed of the few scraps by his friends. Most of the time, he was unaware, probably because it was mostly irrelevant to his daily life.

"Well, in the Prophet, there have been a few articles on bills passing through the Wizengamot."

The august body Dumbledore was head of, though there were the inklings that his position was growing more precarious.

"There's not really much he can do, can he?" Harry reached for a plate, piling on a few rashers before Ron took all of the ones within easy reach. "That distinction thing between the government and the school, you told me about it in Potions a while ago."

"Well, yes. That's a large barrier, if it's respected."

The way she said it didn't bode too well. As if that respect wasn't assumed, that it could be taken away easily enough.

"It's not all that bad, really," said Harry. He looked around the Hall; the students certainly weren't as despondent as they had been at other points in the year so far. "As long as nothing else happens, it doesn't really seem like he can do anything..."

There was no reason to think that things would go horribly, besides the odd sort of sense sometimes present in the back of the mind. That little nagging feeling cautioning of letting your guard down. Or, even worse, daring the situation to worsen.

"It could always be worse," Luna chimed in, "Why, in reality, the Aurors could just be part of some ploy by the Ministry, now under the control of the Rotfangs. They could always be using this whole incident as a front for..." She grabbed a scrap of paper, and quickly dashed a few lines off to herself. "Hm, yes. That does fit quite nicely, doesn't it?"

The first-year only grinned a bit as the people around her could only look away, partially unsettled visages plastered on their faces.

As more people began to file into the Great Hall, so did more of the tasks that had been set to the gnomes get fulfilled. Each one was usually a spectacle in its own right, at least for the onlookers. The unfortunate recipients of such affections were usually left standing there, likely just wishing to dissolve into a puddle onto the floor to slip between the cracks. Such things did not occur.

The whole notion seemed a bit embarrassing to Harry. But the specific manner in which they were usually delivered added an extra bit of flair. Though, it was quite evident the difference between some of the messengers. Some were extremely flamboyant, seemingly engrossed in their work. The luckier students had their Valentines delivered by delivery personnel who could be best described as "doing their duty". That is, they went through it with the minimum of muss and fuss.

A rather disappointing show for anyone watching, though.

Seeing one of these harbingers lock sights, however, did not settle Harry. That half-second of fear was replaced with foreboding as the diminutive man began to waddle towards him. He could run, of course, but that would be pretty foolish. To run from a Valentine?

* * *

Perhaps that would have been wise.

"Oh, come on." Hermione chided, seeing the look on her friend's face, after the subject had drifted towards this morning's event. "It wasn't all _that_ bad, Harry."

"To you it might not have been! I, however, didn't like it very much." Using his left hand, he made a jabbing motion towards his eye. "Of course, you might receive it a bit differently if the ballad was about you."

The opening line of the... horror, as Harry might have called it, echoed in the assembled minds. A spasm of laughter followed (from most of them), accompanied by a groan (from Harry).

"You might have defeated the Dark Lord," Ron began, alluding to another one of the lines, "But it seems you've met your match now."

It was after dinner, and they had settled back down into the common room, working on a few bits of classwork, or just enjoying themselves until they began to get drowsy.

The evening began to pass into night, and the scattered remnants of Gryffindor trickled through the portal, eventually meandering up towards their dormitories.

Or at least most of them did. Harry and Ron had now set themselves against one another, a board placed between them. A foul stench filled the air.

Anyone familiar with what they were playing would know the cause of that. And, certainly, people passing by wrinkled their noses in irritation at the scent, their eyes falling across the board, then writing it off and bustling away from that corner of the room.

So it was a bit odd, when, the portrait opened once more, and the esteemed Head of House quickly passed through it. And, upon reaching the corner of the room where Harry and his friends had settled, though she might have detected a whiff of the foetid air, McGonagall didn't care a whit for the Gobstones board.

"Mr. Potter, I think it would be wise if you would come with me."

Her tone did not bode well.

Their passage through the corridors was brisk. They did not pass many people along the way, nor did any words pass between them. The situation was fairly seriously dire, from the circumstances that had already been presented.

Of course, things grew worse as the walk towards the Headmaster's office began to materialise. The few, sharp words of confectionary that was the password to the guardians, and the quick ascent of the cold, resounding spiral staircase up into the Headmaster's sanctum.

Dawlish was there. So was a man in a green bowler (the colour didn't flatter him very much). As was the office's owner. The dour looks plastered across their faces communicated one fact: being so strung up about a silly Valentine was fairly miniscule in proportion to this event, likely.

* * *

The next morning was changed in the Great Hall. There was no benevolent presence of Dumbledore gracing the faculty table anymore. Instead, McGonagall had taken the Headmaster's place, with Dawlish now at her side.

Slowly, the hall began to fill with the exuberance of the student body. Casting glances towards the head table, a few likely felt something was off, but didn't think all that much of it. People weren't the most attentive sort under ordinary circumstances, after all.

A quick _Sonorus_, though, and Dawlish rising to his feet, quickly silenced the bustle and din that had filled the old room.

"As some of you might have noticed, Headmaster Dumbledore is missing. Unfortunately, he is not the only one amongst our number that was a casualty of last night. Though, I daresay his fate is much more agreeable than the late Ms. Clearwater's."

The slight clinking of utensils and glasses which had continued in spite of the announcement stopped at the end. There was an altogether queerer look across some of the Ravenclaw's faces, as some bits of information began to add up for them. The rest of the people in the hall were more shocked at the usage of the term "late" applied to a student.

"I am sad to pronounce," Dawlish continued after the merest pause, "That she was only the most recent victim in this sad series of events. Unfortunately, her fate is much more permanent than that of her predecessors. In light of this, the glaring inadequacies of the current school administration to combat this problem have only been highlighted more. Which led to the unfortunate dismissal of Albus Dumbledore from his position as Headmaster earlier this morning, at the request of the Board of Governors."

* * *

I have to confess, I'm not very good with time estimations. In some regards, a week seems a whole lot longer than a week. This was knocking around for a bit on my computer, it's still fairly unpolished. In that same vein, anyone who could assist in some beta work would be very much appreciated. The one upside is that I won't consume too much of any volunteer's time, considering the glacial pace.


End file.
